


Road to Perdition

by all_the_kings_ham



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, And Sass, Angels and Demons, Blood and Violence, Bodyguard Dean Winchester, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, Gabriel and Sam Winchester in Love, It's my favorite thing to write, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Or worse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Young!Sam, a whole lot of morally grey choices, and banter between boys, but there's a lot of joking, castiel is a little scary, cops and robbers, everyone in this is borderline a bad guy, for everyone, idiots to lovers, legit, mafia prince Lucifer, obviously a, straight up dead guy in the first two pages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 150,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_kings_ham/pseuds/all_the_kings_ham
Summary: Lucifer is given a bodyguard after it's clear that someone wants him dead.Dean doesn't want to be this mafia prince's personal meat-shield any more than Lucifer wants Dean following him around for the foreseeable future.But Dean has his eyes set on a bigger prize, and he's determined to stick it out with his unwilling new boss, regardless of how difficult it might get.
Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Lucifer & Dean Winchester, Lucifer/Dean Winchester
Comments: 151
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a new friend- 'hello and welcome to a slow burn, butt touching, mess of a story. I like to write snarky boys telling tasteless jokes while they're horribly injured.'  
> if you've been with me for awhile... Northern Hymn had not been abandoned, but until California stops smoke drenched hellscape it's hard for me to focus.
> 
> So you instead get a story that I've been slowly poking at since 'A Stairway to Nowhere', because I needed more Dean/Lucifer in my life, and forcing these boys to be in constant contact with one another was the fix I needed after Stairway and the long/sad distance between these fools.  
> I've got a backlog of 8 chapters so far, so for a little bit, you'll have a semi regular update from me (enjoy it while it lasts XD)  
> And really, I could have held off posting this until I finished working through all my other WIPs... but I miss the interactions with y'all. Also, the world sucks right now, so if writing this story is making me laugh, then maybe it can do the same for you <3

They moved through the funeral home, past the empty chairs lined up to face the open casket, past the newly embalmed corpse in what had probably been their best suit. 

“We’re friends of the family,” Michael said, nodding to the grim faced mortician standing beside a tasteful flower display, and the weathered old man nodded back before pressing a hand into the wood paneled wall behind him.

The hidden door slid open to reveal a narrow stairwell descending down into a basement, and upwards rose a sea of pulsating music, laughter, cigarette smoke, and the faint but notable scent of blood. The BlackRabbit catered to some of New York’s more illegal citizens, which not only made the facility itself illegal, but also made it one of the most exclusive clubs this side of the Hudson. 

Dean had only taken the steep stairs once before, years back when he’d first started working for Benny Lafayette. Back then the club had been alive and bustling with sinners and monsters alike, and navigating the stairs was like descending into one of the more entertaining levels of hell. 

Years, multiple police raids, and at least two recorded fires didn’t seem to have changed the place one bit from the way he remembered it. The only difference now was that the heavy set man at the bottom of the stairs didn’t stop them as they approached. No credentials were asked for, and Dean kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward, sticking to Michael like he was being paid to, and since he  _ was  _ getting paid that feeling was oddly fitting.

Michael knew his way through the joint, and he should since he owned it, the two of them weaving around full tables of happily drunk patrons. Through the space behind the busy bar, into a kitchen, past another neatly hidden door guarded by another grim faced man like the one upstairs.

These halls were almost quiet once the door closed behind them, the sounds of the nightly party stifled and suddenly distant. The men back here hardly glanced up at them, occupied by a card game. Handguns rested openly on the table top, larger automatics propped against chairs. They all had cups of coffee or soda, smart enough to keep clear heads while they worked.

All this walking to come to one last door, this one flanked by casually armed men who nodded to Michael in a way that was almost reverent. The dark haired man looked over at Dean. Just a look. He didn't say anything and he didn’t have to. They’d talked about tonight’s expectations on the drive over here, and Michael simply wasn’t the sort of person who repeated himself. 

Dean nodded once. He understood Michael. The man was smart and well organised, charming to a fault when it served his purpose, cold and ruthless when he needed to be. He was a businessman, which by all rights made him something of a sociopath, but in his own way fairly predictable. 

Which couldn’t be said about the rest of his family.

One of those armed men opened the door for them and Dean followed Michael inside. 

It was the sort of room that, years ago, would have given him some pause. Before he’d gotten involved in this business the sight would have made him sick, but nowadays seeing a dead body tied to a chair in the center of a broken salt ring, while people sat around joking and drinking was somewhat tame. 

These were men that Dean had never even seen mugshots of; still he recognised them instantly. 

Here were two of the four Williams’ kids. Michael’s younger brothers and not even close to the reason that Dean had gotten mixed up in this godforsaken business in the first place.

“Hey, would you look at that, Luci. It’s Mike,” The youngest brother, Gabriel grinned up from where he was sitting on the floor. His long hair hung in his face, damp with sweat. Blood on his hands. Blood on his shirt. None of it his. “He came all the way down here to help. How sweet.” 

The other man, just as blonde as Gabriel but with a face less accustomed to grinning, lowered the bottle that had been pressed to his lips. “No. He came after the dirty work was done, like he always does. I mean look at his clothes. Look at those shoes. You don’t come for a night of fun dressed in a three piece suit.”

“Well, if anyone did, it would be Mike,” Gabriel said with an only slightly unhinged laugh.

Michael stone faced his brothers, no cracks in his careful facade. “If you two are done trying to make jokes? I have other things to do tonight.”

“We wouldn’t want to cut into your plans,” Gabriel leaned back, still grinning, still looking like a blood splattered thing of nightmares. “Go ahead. Lay it on us. What convinced you to come down from that ivory tower of yours?”

“Lu―bodyguard. Behave.” Michael was just as efficient with his words as he was with his family’s business. 

For the first time since entering the room, the Williams boys seemed to notice Dean, the two turning to look curiously at the extra man in the room who had basically been treated like a piece of furniture up until that point.

Lucifer Williams was the second out of the four kids. Just as cold as his big brother, but hardly warranting more than a footnote in the family’s expansive police record. There was almost nothing known about him. He was basically a ghost in the system.

His bloodshot eyes were flat and unfeeling as he looked Dean up and down twice before turning back to Michael. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking,” the eldest brother said as he took his watch from a pocket, glancing at it. “Someone tried to kill you yesterday. So he will be keeping you safe until we sort this mess out.”

“No,” Nick said a little louder, though just as calm and disinterested.

“He’s worked for Benny Lafayette for five years. Consider him a compliment that both I and Dad’s old business partner thought you are worth keeping alive.” 

“Mikey, kindly go fuck yourself,” the words mumbled into what looked to be a bottle of gin.

The dark haired man turned back to Dean, eyes flicking up to meet his with a level stare. “Stay with him, no matter what he says.”

Dean nodded. He knew his job, even if he had some very strong feelings about it. 

Michael looked back to his brothers. “Gabriel, I’ll see you at church next Sunday. We’ll all go to Elle’s house after services for dinner.”

With a soft groan, Gabe ran a hand through his hair and tucked some behind an ear, but he didn’t argue. 

Neither of the brothers argued.

And with that, Michael left.

Abandoning Dean in a den of lions.

How unfortunate for the lions.

Gabriel snatched the bottle from his brother’s hands and took a long drink before complaining, “How come you get a pretty new toy?”

“Apparently Mike wants me alive slightly more than someone else wants me dead.”

“Does your tasty looking meat shield come with a name?”

“I’d assume so.” Nick looked up with a questioning tilt to his eyebrows. 

“Dean.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Nick repeated, more feeling in that single word than he’d shown the whole time his big brother had been in the room. He got to his feet, his bare feet, walking unflinching over the salt and blood splattered floor as he pulled a service pistol from the waistband of his pants. “Here’s how it’s going to go,  _ Dean _ . I didn’t ask for you. I don’t need you. I don’t care what my brother told you to do. If you get in my way,” the barrel of the gun was pressed up under Dean’s jaw, “then I will be making a nice big hole in the back of that pretty head of yours. Are we clear?”

Dean knew men like Lucifer Williams. God help him, but he’d spent the last six years doing his best to fit in with these sorts of people.

He kept his face and voice as neutral as possible. “I have very clear orders from your brother, and seeing as he scares me, and you just make a lot of noise, I’ll be doing what I came here to do.”

On the other side of the room, Gabriel let out a happy blurt of laughter that was immediately lost under the thunderously loud bullet fired right beside Dean’s head. 

Nick had shot the wall behind him, discharging the weapon close enough to Dean’s ear that he could feel the radiant heat of the barrel against his cheek. Ears ringing, hearing definitely compromised for the rest of his life, Dean winced.

He hated that he winced―even if that tiny bit of movement was still an underreaction considering how hard his heart was hammering. The mind could only have so much control over the body’s instinctual need to protect itself. 

It took nearly ten painfully long seconds for him to grab the gun from the other man and throw it to the ground. The palm of his hand stung with a fresh burn, his ears ringing worse than any tinnitus he’d ever had, and he squared his shoulders to the frightening man standing toe to toe with him.

There was no way to tell how loud he was talking because the only thing that Dean could hear was the deafening ringing that would probably stick with him for the rest of the night. “I go where you go. I eat where you eat. I sleep where you sleep, and god willing, they’ll find who tried to kill you soon, for both our sake.” 

The door to the room swung open and a man’s voice asked, “Everything alright in there?”

Gabriel grinned around the mouth of his bottle. “We’re aces, Joey. You wanna send someone in to clean up this mess?”

‘Joey’ made a noise and closed the door behind him.

Hardly missing a beat, Gabe rolled up to his feet. His knuckles were raw and bruised, and how he swayed as he walked seemed more to do with fatigue than the bottle of liquor he was still clinging to. “You know, Luci, tonight’s been a total waste aside from your pretty new toy.”

Lucifer hadn’t taken his eyes off of Dean, the flecks of blood on his cheeks too dark against his pale skin. “Gabe, pick up my gun.”

“Pick it up yourself,” his brother pushed hair from his face again and smiled crookedly up at Dean. “Forgive my brother, he’s an unforgivable ass. Glad to have you onboard. Gin?” He offered up his bottle.

And this matched up to the rumors that Dean had heard about the youngest Williams kid. Gabriel was the easiest one to get along with, friendly, but all accounts said to avoid being left alone with him if at all possible. 

“I don’t drink when I’m working,” Dean lied as easily as breathing.

Running a finger along the curve of his shoulder, Gabe pretended to brush away dust from Dean’s jacket. “Oh, it’s gonna’ be a real rough few days for you― or weeks. Hell, if I know how long this mess is going to take to sort out. So far we’ve got nothin’.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Nick said to them both as he went to retrieve his gun from the corner where Dean had thrown it. “He’s not staying.”

Gabriel took a mouthful from his bottle before hissing through his teeth and glancing at Dean and then his brother. “You mean me… or him?”

Lucifer turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean and Gabriel to trail after him like children. 

“Me or him?” Gabriel had to take three steps for each of Lucifer’s single long legged strides, bounding along in his wake and slipping between Dean and the taller man as he struggled to catch his brother’s attention. “Lu?  _ Lu _ ?”

Dean found himself sorely missing his time with Benny.

Benny Lafayette, like most of the older vampires that Dean had met, was an old world monster. Sure, Benny could blend in well enough, but the man had been turned somewhere back in the early 1800’s and still didn’t look more than a couple years older than Dean. Old monsters like Benny could follow the rules, so when the existence of non-humans became public knowledge it was really only those old, restrained creatures with mountains of self control that managed to survive all the new laws and ordinances that had been put in place to try and keep the peace.

Newly turned monsters didn’t have a long life expectancy, so when Dean took a seat at the table alongside Lucifer, he was a little surprised to actually see some of the more fresh faced and ‘obvious’ monsters enjoying the atmosphere and entertainment at The BlackRabbit. The set of girls at the end of the bar, with their healthy warm complexions and their clearly visible fangs meant that they couldn’t have been dead more than a few months.

There were more scattered around through the club patrons, people with bright living eyes that hadn’t fully settled into that cold otherworldliness just yet, or who never would, because the lethality of the judicial system didn’t do three-strikes when it came to monsters. One and done. 

Vampires were not a concern of Dean’s though. Vampires were small potatoes. 

There were at least a dozen different species of ‘other’ that he could see from their table in the back corner of the club. Most of them he could put a name to the genus and species, some he couldn’t, and those were the ones that Dean watched from the corner of his eye. Those were the sorts of beasties that the general population of humans had no idea about, and hopefully never would. Humans were having a hard enough time adjusting to the concept of magic and monsters without knowing just how far down that rabbit hole went. 

Dean shifted in his seat, not uncomfortable with his surroundings, just trying to settle in a way that his gun wouldn’t be digging into the small of his back.

The brother’s were talking, but it was mostly just white noise at this point, drowned out by the thrumming heartbeat like baseline to the music, and the obnoxious ringing in his ears which he planned to hold against the jackass beside him, and hopefully one day repay.

A young woman wearing flowing skirts and smelling like woodsmoke slid up to their table, talking in a whisper against Lucier’s ear. They exchanged a handful of words that Dean struggled to hear and felt frustration blooming when he realised it wasn’t in English. The woman straightened, turning a curious smile towards Dean, the metallic gold flecks in her eyes flashing in the dim light. Her ears came to a slight point, peeking out between a mess of dark curls that slid over her narrow shoulders as she leaned close to Dean. 

“What would you like to drink?” Her words cut through the din of sound and pressed against Dean’s mind, sliding against the base of his brain like velvet and making the hair on his arms stand up. 

Reflexively he pressed his wrist against the table top, feeling the bite of one of the metal charms on his bracelets against his skin. “Nothing, darlin’. Thanks.”

She shrugged and waltzed off towards the next table and Dean made a mental note to pass along to his higher ups that The BlackRabbit had at least one fey in their employment―which was an immigration nightmare, and more than that, absolutely horrifying to Dean who had only heard second hand stories of the things that they could do. 

He shook himself again, trying to get the distracting scent of her out of his system.

“If you don’t want him, can I keep him?” Gabriel was asking, reaching over and toying with one of the buttons on the cuff of Dean’s jacket like you’d fiddle with a little rip in some wallpaper, utterly impersonal.

“We’re not keeping him,” Lucifer’s voice was so much lower than his brothers, the words much harder to catch with all the extra noise of the club.

“But Michael said―”

“Michael can go fuck himself if he thinks he can saddle me with a babysitter.”

“No one gives  _ me  _ a bodyguard,” Gabriel’s complaint was nearly lost all together as he returned to the cloudy bottle of gin that he’d carried with him from the back room. 

Dean had to remind himself that according to the files, the youngest Williams boy was still only seventeen, even though the weight in his eyes as he sullenly drank made him look far, far older. 

Under the table, something brushed Dean’s thigh, and he glanced down to see that Lucifer had folded his legs under himself, the underside of one of his bare, blood stained feet was resting on the edge of Dean’s chair. There were the neat carved edges of some design scarred into the soles of the man’s feet, not enough visible to Dean for him to guess their purpose, and he honestly hoped that he wouldn’t be stuck with the man long enough to find out. 

After all, he hadn’t involved himself in all of this mess to get closer to the Willams’ children. He had his sights set on much larger prey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for your enthusiasm for this story, it's been a fun one to work on and I'm super excited to finally be sharing it with y'all <3

It was nearly four in the morning before Dean found himself climbing the narrow steps up out of the club, and the effort that they took was noticeably more than when Michael had dropped him off hours before.

Gabriel had left earlier, yawning and complaining, clinging to the arm of one of the goons that had been watching the back doors.

Which had left Dean and his new job sitting at that lonely table in the back of the crowded club without a single word shared between them. Lucifer seemed to be doing his best to simply ignore Dean’s existence, quietly people watching, and sipping on a cup of very dark coffee even after it had long gone cold. 

If he was at all tired by the late hour, it didn’t show, and he took the stairs two at a time, forcing Dean to quicken his pace or be left behind. 

Nearly anywhere else in the states would leave the pre-dawn city streets empty, but not New York. Yellow taxis and early commuters made for a slow but steady flow of traffic, even if the sidewalks seemed fairly empty aside from the two men emerging from the unremarkable building.

Late spring weather pulled clouded breaths out of Dean and made him grateful for the jacket that had been a little stifling back in the warmth of the club. He pushed his hands down into his pockets and gave a sideways look at the other man’s still bare feet, long toes and rust colored flaking bloodstains painfully out of place in the upscale business district where they stood. 

“Shoes?” Dean asked a little louder than he meant to, his ears still ringing.

Lucifer looked over, his eyes widening just a touch as if he were surprised to see Dean standing beside him. “You’re still here?”

“As long as your brother is paying me, yeah.”

“I’d say you can’t buy that kind of loyalty, but…” he let the thought trail off, a small smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he enjoyed his own little joke. The smile faded quickly though and he turned away and started walking, heedless of the chill in the air or the fact that there was very obviously still blood on his clothes. In the club that wasn’t really a big deal, but out on the street someone was very likely to take notice and call the cops.

“Are we calling a cab or do you really plan to walk?” Dean asked, once more quickening his steps to keep up with the other man.

“I don’t see how what I’m planning to do with my morning is even slightly your business.”

Dean kept following, dimly taking note of the way that those nicely tailored black slacks hugged Lucifer’s backside. He pushed the wayward thought away and took two less than graceful, hurried steps, to catch up and walk beside the other man. 

“Is this going to be a long walk?” Dean asked. “Because all things considered, your brother is going to be a little pissed if you catch pneumonia and die because you decided to take a moonlit stroll without shoes or a jacket.”

“The cold won’t kill me, neither will some half assed assasination attempt. I have no idea why my brother thinks I need you.”

“Your shivering and your lips are already turning blue.”

“You talk too much.” Lucifer turned down a side street and took a service entrance to a building that Dean hadn’t been focused enough to notice the name over the front entrance. From the narrow hallway and unmarked doors, he didn’t have any better idea of where they were going, except that as they turned a sharp right corner he was faced with yet more stairs. 

Of course more stairs.

Dean hated stairs, though he found (that for the first three flights at least) he didn’t mind his view while walking behind Lucifer. 

It was a tall building, and undoubtedly there had to be at least one elevator on the premise. But they took the stairs, and judging by Lucifer’s tierless pace and the way the muscles of his ass and thighs looked beneath those pants, it was evident that this man was no stranger to the painful climb. 

Dean wondered if the rumors were true then. If there was magic running through the blood of the Williams’ family line. 

Magic tended to wreak havoc on all things mechanical or electric, and the more complicated the device the more likely it was to short circuit or die. It would account for why the car that Michael and Dean had been chauffeured to the club in had been a Rolls Royce straight out of the fifties. Dean had assumed that the antique car was for aesthetic purposes, but it might have been because older cars simply didn’t come with built in computers. 

Mercifully they left the twisting stairwell once they reached floor eight. By then Dean’s throat was burning and he could feel his shirt plastered to his back with sweat. 

Lucifer glanced back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Oh god. I’d thought I lost you on the fifth floor. You’re like a bad-ex who just can’t take a hint. You’re not going away, are you?”

Dean licked sweat from his upper lip and shook his head, not trusting himself to be able to get clear and defiant words past his labored breaths. It’s not like he neglected cardio or anything, but his body was absolutely not used to climbing a small mountain’s worth of stairs after already being up and awake for more than twenty-four hours. 

With a grunt of disgust, Lucifer turned away again and padded soundlessly down a very richly carpeted hallway, stopping at a startlingly cerulean blue door that in no way matched the color scheme of the hall’s decor.

The door opened with a soft click and Lucifer slid a key ring back into his pocket, but Dean stepped up and put a hand on the man’s arm. 

Lucifer visibly jumped, pulling away like Dean’s hand against his sleeve had burned him. “You do  _ not _ touch me. Ever. You are my brother’s guard dog and I do-not-like-dogs,” he made those last few words sharp as a blade, his eyes icy gaze flat and cold. “Understand?”

“You don’t go into rooms ahead of me because someone tried to kill you yesterday.” Dean was sure that there were people who might shrink away under a look like that, but he’d meant what he said early that night. Michael scared him. Lucifer was nothing more than noise. “ _ Understand _ ?”

It was like the gun going off beside Dean’s ear all over again, the two of them staring each other down while the tension between them tightened like a wire.

Lucifer didn’t exactly back down first, but that steely cold in his eyes dimmed as his eyelids drooped to a bored expression, and he gestured to the slightly cracked door. “Well then, be my guest. If you want to sniff around like the good little guard dog you are, then who am I to get in your way?”

Over the last six years, since he got mixed up in this mess, Dean had legitimately shot people for less than those words being spit at him. 

He had to remind himself to stay focused on the bigger plan. 

Lucifer was just noise.

Dean popped the button on his jacket, reaching underneath to pull out the snub nosed pistol from his under the arm holster. He held the gun half raised, thumbing off the safety as he entered the room. 

The apartment. 

The penthouse apartment. 

Part of him had been expecting some sort of upscale office, he’d certainly spent enough time standing quietly in the peripheral of questionable business deals and planning meetings with men in suits sitting around expensive mahogany tables.

But this looked like a college student’s apartment. Expensive furniture was littered with dog eared books and discarded clothes, the far wall was a bank of windows with a great view of central park and the pinkish dawn light breaking through the clouds in to illuminate a bed that didn't look like it had ever been made, and a nearby work table covered in papers and jars and only god knew what else. 

It was a far cry from Benny’s. It was also very easy to see that there was no one hiding in the dark corners, simply because the apartment was pretty much just one sprawling room, kitchen, living area, and bed all lumped together with no walls to divide the spaces. 

Dean made a cursory check into the surprisingly large closet, elbowing some of the hanging suits to make sure no one was luring behind the expensive and tailored suits. He went to the bathroom, flipping on a light and pushing the door fully open and flat against the wall. Unless someone had stowed themselves in the little cabinet below the sink, the place was empty. 

Walking back to the front door, he stepped over a very fresh looking bloodstain on the carpet, and nodded to the man waiting in the hall. 

“Room’s clean,” he announced because it was his job, and Dean didn’t half ass any job, no matter how stupid it was.

Lucifer walked around him, casting a fleeting look at that dark stain beside the door, but not missing a step. 

Dean wasn’t sure he could pull off looking so aloof with such a clear reminder of his own mortality splattered across the floor of his own home―if he had a home that was. 

He closed the door, pausing only slightly at the sight of not one, or two, but four separate deadbolt locks. When he turned back to the sprawling apartment he got an eyeful of Lucifer shedding his blood splattered button up shirt, and exposing a lean muscled back that was painted with blue and purple bruises, the very painfull marks in sharp contrast to the large swatch of gauze taped just north of where his left kidney sat. 

What should be white square glinted wet in the warm light slowly filling the room, almost wholly soaked through with fresh blood.

“You, um…” Dean wasn’t sure what words to use with this obviously prickly man.

Lucifer glanced back, half turning and showing a far cleaner looking square of gauze on his front. His cold eyes followed Dean’s, his hand coming up to touch the still very fresh wound below his ribs, and then moving to his back, which elicited a sharp hiss of breath. 

“I guess the bullet went all the way through?” Dean stated the obvious, gauging the slight hint of human emotion he was seeing in the other man’s face for the first time all night.

“Yes,” Lucifer said softly, twisting in a way that looked painful as he tried to look at his own back, “and that asshole doctor apparently didn’t do a good job on the stitches.”

“Or he wasn’t planning on you climbing the Empire State Building before you had a chance to heal up a bit.”

“This isn’t the Empire building.”

“I know that,” Dean put his gun away and shrugged out of his jacket, still feeling the heat after the impromptu cardio workout they’d just done.

“I don’t know what you  _ do _ and what you  _ don’t _ know. All I know is with that accent you’re trying to hide, you aren’t from around here.” Lucifer straightened, rolling his broad shoulders, and the bruising across his front was only marginally less painful to look at than the marks over his back, and ever so slightly more distracting than the lines of old bluish tattoos that hid beneath the marks of recent violence. 

They looked mostly like sigils, which only helped to confirm the rumors that Dean had heard. The Williams were definitely messing with magic of some flavor, but Dean’s trained eye couldn’t properly make out any of the designs under the camouflage of bruises.

“There’s a first-aid kit on top of the fridge,” Lucifer pointed loosely before he gingerly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the overstuffed, L shaped couch.

“If you’ve popped your stitches we should call a doctor to come patch you up,” Dean said, knowing that it was the practice of most of the bigger crime families to keep doctors on retainer to deal with injuries that would raise too many questions if brought to a hospital. 

Lucifer pointed again, ignoring the advice.

Stifling a sigh, Dean went and fetched the red plastic box and brought it to the couch, tossing it down beside the shirt that Lucifer had shed like a second skin.

Lucifer didn’t ask for help changing the gauze which was for the best, because Dean wasn’t about to offer. He wasn’t a doctor, and he had no intention of playing doctor for this man.

But he quickly discovered that there was only so long he could sit there on the couch, resting his heavy eyelids, before he had to intervene for the sake of his own sanity. 

“You need a doctor, man,” he said with a forced casual tone, watching the blood running down the other man’s back in thin lines, soaking into the waistband of his dress pants and beading darkly against his leather belt. 

“It’s fine.” Lucifer tossed down the blood soaked piece of gauze into the growing pile before using his wet fingers to rip open another package and press yet another ineffective bandage against the steadily bleeding wound.

“Your brother's going to be really pissed if I let you bleed out on the sofa.”

“Is that going to be your ammunition for every argument?” Lucifer didn’t look up from the pile of bloody squares that he seemed so determined to make. His tone pitched up an octave and he mumbled in a mocking tone, “Oh no, I better stop,  _ Michael _ might not like it.”

“He seemed pretty serious about me keeping you alive.”

“He’s always serious.”

“Unlike you,” Dean drawled, “you’re a laugh a minute.”

“I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here. I’m not going to waste my energy on entertaining an unwanted houseguest.”

“Bodyguard,” Dean corrected.

“Irritating shadow that I’m considering throwing out the window.”

“At the rate you’re losing blood I’m not all that worried about you doing me any bodily harm before you pass out.” 

Lucifer finally turned his eyes to Dean, and they were just as cold and dead as his older brother’s. “You have absolutely no idea what I could do to you.”

“Look, it’s super cute and all that you want to be scary, but I really think you should refocus your energy on not dying right now.” Dean slid from his corner of the couch and reached out to at least help apply pressure, because the bullet hole was looking increasingly worse the longer Lucifer tried to tend to it himself. 

Before he could even touch the other man though, Lucifer was off the couch, taking a wobbling step backwards, blood loss making his sharp features concerningly pale.

“Alright, I’m calling a doctor,” Dean threw his hands up, far too tired for this kind of idiocy. “Where’s your phone.”

“I don’t have a phone,” his tone was aloof, but his knuckles were blistering white where he gripped the back of the couch, seemingly only able to stand out of pure stubbornness.

“How do you not have a phone?” Dean demanded, mentally making one more tally in the column of ‘Williams are dabbling in magic’.

“Use yours,” Lucifer said sharply.

Unfortunately, Dean didn’t have a phone either. He could sometimes use a landline phone, but those were as rare as unicorns these days, and cell phones never lasted more than a few minutes in his hands.

“Are you telling me that you send carrier pigeons when you need help?” Dean demanded. “How the hell do you function without a phone?”

“I just walk downstairs and tell the concierge. He handles all my calls.”

“By the time I get my ass down all those stairs you’re going to be passed out in a pool of your own blood.” He motioned towards the first-aid kit. “We need to get pressure on it. I can stitch you up, but you’re going to have to stop running away.”

“I’m not running away,” Lucifer sneered, “I just don’t want you getting your filthy hands on me.”

“Have you seen yourself, princess?” Dean pointedly looked the man up and down. “Because you frankly look like shit.”

Whatever biting response to that seemed trapped behind Lucifer’s gritted teeth, as he swayed on his feet before swallowing hard and finally nodded like surrender. “ _ Fine _ . But take a shower first.”

“You will literally die if I leave you alone long enough to take a shower.” Dean missed Benny. The man might have been a monster, but he was also a very reasonable guy, and not at all a germaphobe, or whatever the hell was wrong with Lucifer who apparently was fine with a stranger’s blood on him, didn’t bat an eye about walking down the streets of New York barefoot, but god forbid that Dean  _ touch _ him without cleaning himself first.

“Then wash your fucking hands at least,” was the man’s feeble demand as he sank unsteadily back down to the edge of the couch. 

Dean quickly scrubbed up his hands in the kitchen sink, wrinkling his nose at the sharp lemongrass scent of the soap, before springing back to the couch. He didn’t care if it showed worry. He had no attachment to the man bleeding on the couch, but it would be one hell of a big step backwards to let the Williams’ kid die, seeing how hard Dean had worked to get this far.

He found the other man easy to move, the anger in Lucifer’s eyes seemingly the only fight currently left in him. Dean laid the man forward over the arm of the couch and pressed a fresh gauze square into place hard enough that it forced a hiss of breath out of Lucifer. 

“You could work on your bedside manner.”

“Not really sure how to respond to that,” Dean said after a moment. He edged closer, pressing a leg against the other man’s as he hovered over him, applying steady pressure despite the squirming protests. 

It had been years since he’d had to play triage doctor to an unwilling patient, and the last person had been his kid brother when Sam had taken a flying leap off the top bunk of their bed and busted his head on the edge of their desk. 

Close like he was to Lucifer, and for the first time not trying to win a staring contest, Dean found himself very distracted by the lines of ink he could just make out under the dark bruises. Something was written down the ridge of his spine, letters that Dean couldn’t read even though he could feel their meaning like a steady but low course of electricity tingling under his skin where his hand was pressed flat against the man’s back. 

They were magical words. Words of protection, even if their effectiveness was put into question with seen next to the streaks of drying blood.

“You should talk so I know you’re not dead,” Dean said, shifting his fingers slightly, moving them away from the line of the tattoo and breaking his connection with that pulsing current. 

Lucifer’s words were hardly more than a rumble of distant thunder. “If you can feel me breathing it’s safe to assume that I haven’t passed on.”

“I’m gonna set your gun on the coffee table,” Dean said like a warning, not wanting to catch the guy off guard as he wrapped his free hand around the butt of the gun resting against the small of the man’s back. 

“Don’t touch my gun,” Lucifer grumbled, sounding like he had a mouthful of a couch cushion. 

“Or I’ll get it dirty?” Dean asked dryly, the gun already passing from his hand to the nearby table top. 

“I don’t like you.”

“And you’re just bringing this up now?” Dean did his best to sound wounded. “Luci, I’m hurt. Here I was thinking you and I had a real connection.”

“What did you just call me?” 

Dean smiled, but only because he knew the face-down man beside him couldn’t see it. He watched the steady rise and fall of Lucifer’s back, making idle guesses about what the bits and pieces of tattoo might be; how many were decorations and which ones were out of necessity. 

The rumors about the Williams family varied wildly enough that there was no general consensus as to what the hell they actually were. Usually Dean was pretty good at  _ Name That Monster _ , but he didn’t know enough yet to feel confident in guessing. Instead he made mental notes and counted the beats of the other man’s heart that he could feel steadily beneath his hand. 

“Why you?” Lucifer asked suddenly, not bothering to raise his head when he spoke and the words came out muffled and flat.

“Why me  _ what _ ?”

“My family has two dozen thugs on payroll. Why bring in a complete stranger to keep me safe?”

“From what I got Benny and your family do a lot of business together.”

“That wasn’t a request for you to weigh in.” Lucifer cut him off with a softly spoken sentence. “I was just thinking out loud. I do that.”

“Alright.” 

After a moment’s pause, the injured man sighed and asked out loud, “Why doesn’t my brother trust the men who work for us? Why’d he bring in an outsider?” 

Dean didn’t think he was supposed to answer, but it was an interesting question. 

He kept counting the heartbeats under his hand, after a few long minutes finally feeling satisfied that Lucifer wasn’t going to suddenly die.

“You want me to go all the way down to the ground floor and call you a doctor, or you trust me to stitch you up?” Dean asked.

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you.”

“And seeing as you can’t even lift your own damn head at this point, I’m guessing that’s not a whole lot of trust.”

“Assuming you wouldn’t offer if you haven't done it before, just do it. I don’t want to deal with the doctor again tonight.”

“It’s morning,” Dean said, glancing towards all that nice daylight coming in through the wall of windows. 

“Do I look like I give a damn what time it is?”

Dean chuckled under his breath and leaned forward, far enough that he could grab one of Lucifer’s arms and twist it behind his back, fitting the man’s hand over that square of gauze. 

“Keep the pressure right here,” he instructed, his hand pressing into Lucifer’s until he was sure the guy understood. Then he turned back to the first-aid kit and pulled out a sterile wrapped, and pre-threaded needle. 

There was something nice about lifelong criminals. They tended to be prepared for things that other people wouldn’t even think of. 

Unwrapping the suture needle, he resumed his place pressed against Lucifer’s back, tucking a leg up underneath himself so that their bodies lined up a little cleaner and made the angle less awkward. 

The exit wound was small-ish and relatively clean, really needing only four neat and tidy stitches to pull the hole closed. Dean put in six just to be sure. 

“You still with me, Luci? You’re being real quiet down there.”

Lucifer’s voice came out sandpaper rough and just as muffled as it had been since he laid face down over the arm of the couch. “Do the men under you usually make a lot of noise?”

“ _...what _ ?”

“What?” Lucifer asked with what sounded like legitimate confusion.

Dean frowned at the back of the other man’s head. 

He knew what he’d heard.

He just didn’t know  _ why _ he’d heard it. 

“Think the blood loss is making you a little loopy.” He strung his words together carefully, feeling uneasy for the first time all night. “Might be time for you to turn in.”

“I’ll just sleep here,” Lucifer mumbled into the cushion.

Dean was this man’s bodyguard.

No more. No less. 

If Lucifer wanted to sleep folded over the arm of the couch like a pile of dirty laundry then that was his choice, but Dean had no intention of sleeping there with him like a loyal guard dog.

Certainly not when there was that big roomy bed over there, just begging for someone to curl up on it. 

“Knock yourself out, boss,” Dean said with a laugh, leaving the other man to his hellish sleeping position. 

After double checking that the door was well and thoroughly locked, Dean kicked off his shoes and flopped unceremoniously onto the waiting mattress. He did his best to ignore the warm cedar and citrus scents that clung to the pillowcase, and the faint high notes of salt and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint but that tickled his nose. 

Closing his eyes, Dean found it very easy to push aside the early morning excitement and fall into the deep sleep that his body had been begging for.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we have a chapter of Dean being delightfully distracted by well dressed men, who are honestly just as distracted by Dean :3  
> and Cas.   
> We get Cas <3 even though this is not a destiel story at all, I really can't write a story with angels and actually leave out my favorite one :D

Dean jolted awake at the creak of a floorboard. Slitting one eye he watched Lucifer peel himself off the couch with a pained groan as his back popped and adjusted. He padded stiffly through his apartment, moving out of Dean’s view, noisily bumping into furniture and grumbling sullen little words which were shortly drowned out by the sound of the shower turning on. 

That should have been Dean’s cue to go back to sleep, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a deep sigh, sinking further into the very plush bed and the pleasant feel of the satin sheets against his cheek. 

Not that Benny’s place hadn’t been some pinkies up levels of comfort for his human employees, but Dean hadn’t been given the chance to sleep in past dawn for the last six years and it felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ to the sun to be able to simply close his eyes again and stay where he was. 

Nothing good was made to last however, because before he could wrap himself back up in sleep’s welcoming embrace there started a soft but persistent knocking at the door. 

Silently hoping that whoever was out in the hall might be there to kill Lucifer, Dean got out of bed and pulled his gun, eager to shoot the stranger who seemed so very determined to keep him from sleeping. 

But, a cursory glance through the door’s peephole showed only an empty hall with tasteful paintings hung at even intervals. 

The knocking continued, and Dean frowned until a mess of sandy blond hair bobbed into the lower edges of his line of sight. Messy hair, paired with a brief flash of honey colored eyes, and Dean suddenly recognised their morning guest as Gabriel.

More out of habit than actual suspicion, Dean stood off to one side, out of the possible line of fire, before stretching his arm out to undo the line of deadbolts and crack the door. He was trying to take his bodyguard job seriously, but it was difficult to do when Gabirel burst into the apartment with a pink pastry box and a grin. 

It was a grin that faltered once he saw Dean though. His bright eyes widening a touch as he took in the much taller man hugging the wall with a loaded gun level to his sweet little heart shaped face. 

“Or you could just say ‘good morning’,” Gabriel said with a hint of tightness in his voice.

“Good morning,” Dean replied, lowering the gun a fraction. 

“You going to offer to frisk me for weapons or something?” Gabriel’s grin went crooked. “I could be packing some serious heat.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and put the gun away, motioning for the kid to come inside.

“So that’s a no on the cavity search?” He asked innocently.

“Pretty sure you’re not here to kill your brother.”

“Hey, I’m a dangerous man.”

“The only person you’re dangerous to is yourself, kid.” Dean waited impatiently for the youngest of the Williams to come inside. 

Gabriel gave him a thoughtful look down his sharp nose, having to tip his head back to manage that particular feat, before finally coming inside while balancing the pastry box against his hip, dragging a rolling suitcase behind him. 

Dean recognised the suitcase. It was his. 

He hadn’t even thought about his clothes and stuff the day before when Benny’s right hand man had simply passed Dean off to Michael at the front gates of the sprawling manor house. Dean had been handed off like an unmarked black bag, passed from one shady family to another, and no one had even given him a chance to pack. 

“Mr. Johanas down at the front desk said it was dropped off last night and needed to be dragged up here.” Gabriel swung the bag around, and dropped it at the foot of the couch. “But he’s older than dirt, and his knees aren’t what they used to be, so no more long walks up to the penthouse whenever Lu needs something delivered…” he sized Dean up one more time before warning, “you be nice to Mr. Johanas or I’ll give you paper cuts between your fingers.”

Firstly, Dean hadn’t even given a cursory consideration to anyone employed in this building. 

Second, Dean had no intentions of being anything but polite to whoever manned the front desk, because the employees needed to look out for each other. That was just the way it worked.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d make it through the night,” Gabriel plopped down at the table, shoving papers and the like out of his way to make room for the pastry box, “so I only bought  _ one _ extra doughnut. It’s a jelly.”

“Not going to say no to a jelly doughnut.” Dean pulled up a second chair and reached into the box to retrieve breakfast. 

It was too soon to tell, but he thought he might be able to get along with the youngest Williams kid. In a weird way the bouncy little guy reminded Dean of his own brother―or at least the faded memories he had left of his brother from ten years ago. It felt like half a lifetime since he’d seen Sammy, and Dean was fairly positive that he could pass the little runt on the street and not even recognise him at this point. 

Nostalgia hurt like a bitch.

But it wasn’t any kind of pain that a raspberry filled doughnut couldn’t help ease. 

“So, Dean-o,” Gabriel grinned a powdered sugar dusted grin, “I’m seeing you with that messy hair, wrinkled clothes, my brother in the shower... did you two,” he suggestively slipped two fingers in and out of a partially closed fist, “you know?”

Dean blinked and raised a hand to slowly suck jelly from the edge of his thumb, looking long and hard at the tiny teenager beside him, holding his eye until Gabriel’s cheeks blossomed red and the kid finally turned back to his breakfast. 

It wasn’t like Dean too hadn’t been a complete ass of a teenage boy only a few years ago, but establishing a pecking order was as important as breathing when it came to families like this. Dean needed to make sure that Gabriel understood that he wasn’t here to make friends, or to be a toy-boy for some mafia princeling. 

Lucifer wasn’t even remotely Dean’s type.

The mess of a man in question eventually emerged with a cloud of steam from his shower, scrubbed clean of last night’s blood, but still just as bruised and hollow eyed as he scowled at the men sitting at his table. With a towel clenched firmly around his waist, Lucifer stepped inside his closet and half closed the door behind him. The light inside clicked on, and Dean watched the shadows moving and shifting across the crack in the door.

“Why aren’t you in school, Gabriel?” Lucifer’s disembodied voice asked tiredly.

“Because my brother got shot two days ago and-and,” Gabriel’s whole demeanor shifted, his lip trembling and his eyes filling with tears that he struggled to fight back. “How can I think about school when I’m just so worried for him?”

It was a pretty decent act, shame that Dean was the only one who could really see the whole show, and he didn’t give a single damn. Not even half a damn. 

Lucifer popped his head out of the closet and fixed his brother with an irritated look. 

Gabriel turned off the waterworks, wiping the crocodile tears away and grinning brightly, far too pleased with his own acting abilities.

“Go to school.” Lucifer went back into his closet to finish getting dressed, calling out, “Don’t make me tell you a second time.” 

Flipping his emotions off and on like a switch, Gabriel’s voice suddenly pitched into a whine, “You said I could go with you to see Papa Midnite.” 

“No I didn’t,” the man in the closet barked back.

Dean might not be as good of an actor when it came to those bigger emotions like Gabriel apparently was, but he did have a fantastic poker face and he easily settled into a blank expression as he listened to the brothers arguing, filing away everything they said with an uneasy feeling coiling in his gut.

He was just another piece of furniture though. 

Pay no attention to the outsider sitting at the table. 

Keep on having your private conversations, gentlemen.

“Take me with you or I’m telling Mike where you’re going,” the little blonde demanded.

Lucifer emerged from the closet with a dangerous expression. His button down shirt was black with ruby red buttons, tucked into black slacks with a perfectly tailored cuff that skimmed the tops of his feet. Even half dressed he looked far more intimidating than he had the night before, something about him all put together made him seem that much more focused and cold.

“Michael won’t know  _ anything _ about this.” Lucifer’s voice was hardly louder than a breath, a near silent threat that hung heavily in the air.

With an audible swallow, Gabriel squared his shoulders and said in a clear and defiant voice, “I’m going with you.”

“You’re going to school.”

As close as they were to each other, Dean had a front row seat to the visible cracks in the mask that Gabriel wore. Beneath those arching eyebrows and the hard line of his thin lips, Gabriel couldn’t manage to keep the fear from showing in the whites of his eyes. 

Dean just wished that he knew if it was a fear of Lucifer, or  _ for  _ Lucifer that the kid couldn’t quite hide.

Not surprisingly, Gabriel buckled first, sweeping everything under a well practiced grin. He scrubbed his hands on his pantlegs as he stood. “Have it your way. I’ll go to school, but I’ll be super distraught while I’m there. Might even have to take a nap during math class just to keep from crying about my poor, sweet injured brother who I-I just… I just love so much,” he forced his voice to crack on that last word, bringing a fist to his mouth like he was stifling a sob.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, the smallest bit of a laugh managing to escape. 

It seemed that Gabriel enjoyed having an audience and he raised a hand to hide his mouth while he stage whispered to Dean, “That stick isn’t quite as far up his ass as he likes to pretend. He’s just always pissy after he gets shot. Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you.”

“Yippie?” Dean whispered back, raising an uncertain eyebrow at the kid and hoping that sarcastic expression clearly conveyed just how much he really didn’t care about how Lucifer felt towards him. “You should still probably head off to school, pip-squeak.”

With a wink and a grin, Gabriel let himself out.

Dean rose and followed after, calling softly, “Thanks for the doughnut,” before closing and locking the door behind the kid. 

“I’m just assuming that since you’re still here, you’re planning to keep on following me around for the rest of my life,” Lucifer’s smooth tenor voice had already retreated back into the closet. 

“Til death do us part,” Dean joked, mostly to himself, and really hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, “or when your brother pink-slips me. Whichever comes first.”

The light in the closet went out, and Lucifer emerged once more, dark red tie loose around his neck and a black vest not yet buttoned. He hesitated, giving Dean a critical once over, and making a face like he’d smelled something bad.

To which Dean might have been offended if his brain was functioning correctly right then. He took back what he’d thought earlier about Lucifer not being his type. The knuckle bruised, hollow eyed thug of a man he’d met and then sewn up the night before was an obscure reflection in comparison to the person he found himself staring at. 

Lucifer cleaned up well. Too well. The kind of ‘well’ that made Dean want to bite his lip and say ‘ _ yes sir’ _ ―and that was absolutely going to be a problem for Dean if he was stuck guarding this man for longer than a couple of days.

“You have five minutes to change into something clean before I leave without you,” Lucifer said after an uncomfortable amount of eye contact that said he almost definitely had noticed Dean’s distracted ogling, before he turned to use the mirror on the back of the closet door, and began to tie his tie.

Five minutes would mean no shower and no shave, and Dean focused on that, letting his ire show in an irritated sigh as he snartched up his bag before he went into the bathroom to change. Annoyed worked better for this situation than the nervousness twisting in his guts. 

_ Papa Midnite. _

A man who was supposedly nothing more than a scary bedtime story. 

A shadow who existed only in rumors and nightmares.

A name that Dean hadn’t heard ever repeated above a whisper. 

And at four and a half minutes after he’d gone into the bathroom to change, Dean was speed walking to keep up with Lucifer’s long stride, as the two of them set off to see The Boogeyman of New York.

**_______________**

Lucifer didn’t have a chauffeur and a Rolls Royce like his older brother, or if he did then Dean was very confused as to why they took the god forsaken subway with all the mid afternoon commuters. 

Mercifully it wasn’t a long ride, which was good because by the time they reached their stop the lights in their subway car had started to flicker and make a strange humming sound. None of the other commuters seemed to notice, and Dean wondered if Lucifer thought it strange, or if malfunctioning lights were simply something that he was used to too. 

Dean followed on the other man’s heels, not talking, but looking suspiciously all around them while they walked four blocks north of the subway into a slightly less seedy district, to a long line of restaurants and bars that wouldn’t be opening for a few hours still. 

That didn’t stop Lucifer though. He walked straight into a dark windowed club, with un-lit letters spelling out Cross Roads over the door. 

The size of the space didn’t match the outside dimensions that Dean had seen from the street and for half a moment he stood in the doorway while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim. It was a shallow room with a dozen or so cozy looking high backed booths that flanked a low stage. Dark hallways lead off behind either side of the empty stage, and in the dim lighting Dean thought it looked like the right side hall became a stairway leading up, and the left hallway led downward. 

Dean and Lucifer’s sudden entrance to the bar seemed to scare the hell out of the black haired girl in skinny jeans who was leaning against the nearest booth. She smiled honey sweet and tucked a pen in between the pages of the textbook he’d been flipping through. 

“Sorry, gents,” she said tugging at the hem of his loose tank top that was hanging off one narrow shoulder, a slight but deliberate movement that drew attention to her small but perky breasts. “We’re not open to the public until four, but I’d be happy to take a reservation for early tomorrow if you two wanted a private room.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to fit me in  _ today _ ,” Lucifer answered back in an equally sweet tone, 

Momentarily distracted from the decor, Dean spent a long moment frowning at the man he’d followed in, taking in Lucifer’s cheeky smile and the little lines at the corners of his bright eyes.

Dean kind of hated it.

The girl swayed over to them, an easy roll of her hips as she smiled up at Lucifer, then Dean, and then back to the man she’d been talking to. “We’re booked until tomorrow, but… I’m off in a couple hours.” She bit her lower lip as she sized up the tall blond. “Or for the right price I can be off now.”

Dean also wondered what sort of place this was.

There was no bar, and no restaurant he’d ever been to had a stage.

Strip clubs though, they had stages. 

Lucifer interrupted that thought by holding a hand out to the woman, and gently curling his long pale fingers over her delicate wrist as she reached for him. “Is Mercy still here?”

Her smile turned plastic and tight. “And who should I say you are, honey?”

If Dean had been standing a mere two feet further back he’d probably have missed the way that the girl tried to subtly pull her hand away, only to find herself caught in place.

“I’m no one special,” Lucifer said in that whisper soft way he’d used earlier when threatening Gabriel. “But, I’d appreciate it if you’d find room to fit me in  _ today _ .”

“Let me just go double check. Ok, honey?”

Lucifer let her go, and the girl walked away just a little too quickly, taking the stairs on the right side of the stage, her heels clicking sharply on each step until she was gone. 

“See now,” Dean said dryly, “I thought you threatening me was something  _ special _ , and then you turn around and do that. Poor kid’s gonna have nightmares from your creepy ass.”

“It’s in your best interest to keep that mouth of yours shut while we’re here,” was Lucifer’s only answer. He didn’t even turn to look at Dean when he said it, instantly slipping back into those cold and distant mannerisms of his.

Dean snorted softly, but zipped his lips as their sweet little hostess trotted back down the stairs nearly as quickly as she’d gone up.

That forced smile of hers was still firmly screwed into place as she nodded to the men and motioned towards the stairs behind her. “The Rose room,” was all she said, moving past them in a hurry to lock the front doors.

Which Dean found more than slightly ominous, but he trotted after Lucifer towards the stairs ( _ always _ with the stairs), quietly asking, “We came all this way to see a stripper named Mercy?” Not that Dean was complaining, he was just pretty sure that one could have been ordered up to the penthouse and saved both him and Lucifer that fantastic subway ride.

He also had the uncomfortable feeling that there would be no stippers for either of them and that  _ Mercy _ was some sort of password which was opening the door for him to follow Lucifer to a very, very bad place.

He casually popped the button on his jacket, not caring that with it open the straps for his shoulder holster would be visible. The accursed stairs weren’t nearly as steep or as long as the ones for the penthouse and Dean wasn’t even winded by the time they hit the landing. 

The hallway walls were a velvety matt black making the vibrantly painted doors along the walls pop. Each door was a different color, and at the center of each door had a delicately carved flower. 

Not being a man who had ever been even remotely interested in flowers, Dean couldn’t say for certain what kind of rooms they were walking past, but that was definitely a rose (or at least he’d give it a solid 75% probability) on the smoky pink door at the far end of the hall. 

Dean caught the taller man’s arm before Lucifer could reach for the handle, and earned himself a sharp warning sound that he promptly ignored. This was his job and there were not enough dirty looks in the world to deter him from it. Dean nudged Lucifer back and opened the door himself, giving a cursory look around the room before letting the very irritated looking man enter. 

“Thank god you’re here,” Lucifer sighed as he sank down onto a very roomy couch that could have easily doubled as a bed if the right company joined them. “I almost had to open that door for myself.”

“Not sure if you understand just how much your brother stressed the fact that he wanted you kept alive, princess.” Dean let the door click closed behind him as he went to stand beside the couch, hand loosely clasped behind his back as he silently wondered whose idea it had been to decorate the interior of the room the same color as the door. The gold accents and the black marble of the floor did tone down the otherwise overwhelming pink-ness, but only barley. It wasn’t easy on the eyes.

Lucifer leaned back, the picture of ease as he crossed one ankle over his knee, but those heavy eyes of his were fixed on Dean, boring into him like a steady drip of water, wearing him down. 

“You stand like a soldier,” Lucifer said offhandedly, breaking the silence. 

Dean only wrinkled his nose, but kept his own gaze fixed on the door. Waiting. 

“You sew like a soldier too.”

Dean let his eyes slide sideways to look down at the other man. “That might be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still young.”

His words sounded  _ almost  _ like friendly teasing, and Dean found himself starting to smile, but naturally that’s when the door opened and put an immediate end to their light banter.

There had been a lot of low key build up in Dean’s mind since Gabriel had mentioned Papa Midnite during breakfast. A subtle nervous tension that kept his spine as rigid as a mannequin’s. 

Dean would be meeting Papa Midnite, or at least be in the same room as the man, and that was one hell of a report to send back once this mess was all over. He’d have a location, he’d have a physical description―which was more than anyone else had on the guy, as far as Dean knew. 

But the man who walked in was no more Boogeyman than he was a stripper named Mercy, and Dean would have put money on that. 

Their new friend was a little smaller than Dean, an untucked button down shirt over navy slacks, tousled dark hair that made him look like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed, and the face of a god damned angel, with his sharp jaw, and soft lips that were practically demanding to be prayed to.

Thankfully, the man’s voice broke the illusion, because when that he spoke he sounded like he had nothing on his mind but quick and efficent murder. 

“ _ Lucifer _ ,” he growled one single word, but it got his point across quite clearly. 

Dean felt more than saw Lucifer rising to his feet, and Dean’s hand moved like muscle memory to his own gun. 

“When did you switch sides, Cas?” Lucifer asked without any emotion in his voice, though it was obvious he’d been caught off guard by the appearance of the man staring them down.

“ _ Sides _ ?” The gravel and grit in Cas’ voice when he laughed made Dean feel like he should be able to see blood on the man’s teeth. “You know there are no sides at the Cross Roads, and you also know that the Williams’ boys aren’t allowed to step foot on these grounds after what you pulled last time you were here.”

“If we’re not allowed in, then how’d you make it past the door, little brother?”

Dean’s brain misfired for a microsecond. There were four Williams’ kids. Three boys, one girl, and this dark haired man didn’t fit into that equation. Sure, there could be other reasons to call someone your ‘brother’ but none that quite explained why Lucifer and this stranger had the same cold blue eyes.

“Especially because,” Lucifer continued, his tone light and almost mocking even though Dean could feel the man beside him tight with tension, “if I’m remembering right, stealing that skull was  _ your _ idea in the first place.”

A lot of movement happened at once. 

Three weapons were drawn. Dean not even thinking before he pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster, and the action left him blinking a touch wide eyed at the other two men―because Cas was holding real life, honest to god sword level with Lucifer’s throat, and that was a bit too bold of a power move for Dean’s mind to notice the little details like who’d gone for their weapon first.

The sultry mood lighting of the room began to flicker fitfully, making the metal of the blade seem to gutter with reflective light like a flame was dancing over the surface.

Dean wondered just where the hell the guy had been hiding a whole freaking sword, but considering the way the lights were threatening to give up, he was willing to just go with ‘ _ magic sword _ ’ and not worry too much about the details.

“Oh,” Lucifer breathed, something almost like awe washing away his mocking tone, “see now, Michael’s been looking for that. When, and more importantly  _ how, _ did you manage to steal it from him?”

Cas cocked his head to one side and the blade he held stayed as steady as any surgeon's, though the weight of it had to be exhausting. 

“You took it just to mess with him, didn’t you?” Lucifer asked with a sudden chuckle.

One of Cas’ shoulders bobbed and the tip of the blade followed the slight movement.

That hint of his amusement still rumbling faintly in his throat, Lucifer raised both hands over his head, the audible click of his gun’s safety being switched back into place. “I’m not here to make trouble―”

“Then why are you here?” Cas demanded, still not lowering the sword, none of his intensity wavering for even a moment. 

“I came to talk to Papa Midnite.”

“About?”

“That’s between me and him.”

Cas finally dropped his sword, though it was a literal drop and it caught Dean off guard as he watched the sword fall from the man’s hand and simply vanish before it could hit the floor. 

The lights even stopped flickering once the blade was gone.

Apparently it had been a  _ significantly _ magic sword.

It wasn’t the first enchanted weapon that Dean had seen, in fact the gun hidden against the small of his back was a special little number that he’d commissioned himself from a very dubious weapons dealer. But swords were old school, and he’d legitimately never seen someone holding one like they planned to use it before. 

“If you want to talk to Midnite then you’ve got to talk to me,” Cas said with a heavy sigh, some of the violence leaving as his shoulders sagged and he lowered himself to the seat opposite them.

Lucifer mirrored his brother, sitting with his hands clasped over his stomach. 

It left Dean as the odd man out. He holstered his gun, but didn’t sit down. He was part of the furniture, not a part of the conversation. 

Bypassing whatever reason Lucifer had actually come to the club for, a small note of concern entered his voice as he asked, “Just how deep are you in here, Cas?” 

“Why are  _ you _ here?” The man repeated his earlier question, ignoring Lucifer’s completely.

Letting out a harsh breath through his nose, all that gentle worry dropped out of Lucifer’s voice. “Someone put a hitman in my apartment building two days ago and I need to know who.”

Cas steepled his fingers, and despite the windswept mess of his hair and the untucked tails of his shirt, he seemed to take on the air of a calculating business man. “You’ve come here looking for information then?”

“Rumors say Papa Midnite can get you anything you want,” Lucifer’s tongue darted across his lower lip, “as long as the price is right.”

That did match up to nearly every rumor that Dean knew about the Boogieman. Supposedly he was something half way between a black market and a cursed monkey paw. He could get you anything. Anything at all. He could make your wildest wishes come true, but it all came with a high price.

“What are you willing to pay?” Cas asked with a raise to his dark eyebrows. 

“I’d prefer to work out the details with your boss.”

“You can deal with me, or you can get out.” It was a simple statement, one that didn’t really leave a whole lot of room for bartering. “I’ll see what we can find out... in exchange for him,” Cas dipped his head in Dean’s direction.

Dean had sat in on a lot of trade deals over the past years, and he felt like you could learn a lot about someone by how they played this particular game. He was ever so slightly looking forward to seeing how Lucifer argued―except he wasn’t anticipating himself being used as a bargaining chip and that instantly took all the fun out of being a spectator. 

He kept his face calm, but his insides had gone cold. 

In all the years that he’d worked for Benny, he’d never seen the vampire use people as currency. Dean had always liked that about the man. It was nice to see a monster with something that could pass for morals.

“No,” Lucifer said simply.

That spike of self preserving fear inside Dean let up.

“He’s Michael’s guard dog,” Lucifer continued, instantly losing whatever points he’d gained, “only on loan and not mine to trade.” 

“Michael’s toys are the best toys,” Cas said almost wistfully, his eyes slowly roaming over Dean like a man wondering what treat to take from the dessert buffet. 

Dean really wished that he hated that look a lot more than he did. Being looked at like prey shouldn’t spark that little flame of desire low in his belly. He really, really knew that it shouldn’t. 

“What you're asking for is intangible. You want words, Lucifer,” Cas’ gaze slid back to his brother. “I’m not asking to  _ keep _ him. I just want him for two hours. After all, time is just as loose of a concept as words. It feels like a fair trade to me.”

“No,” Lucifer repeated.

“One hour.”

“No.”

“Nothing worth doing can be done in less than an hour,” Cas explained with a hint of irritation.

“I-I don’t mind,” Dean butted in, clearing his throat. 

Cas cracked a smile and it was as wild as it was beautiful, promising all sorts of wonderful and terrible things.

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer’s words were hard and flat. “Dean, your job is to keep an eye on me, which is not something you can do while you're on your knees.”

“You have no imagination,” Cas said flippantly.

“Pick something else as payment,” Lucifer said through gritted teeth, obviously starting to lose whatever grip he had over his temper. “Talk to Papa Midnite for me. If he can find who wants me dead, then you can come to me and we can talk about what does and doesn’t fit as proper payment… and kid, Papa can’t possibly be ok trading  _ me _ information in exchange for  _ you _ getting your rocks off with some guy. Don’t know exactly what the big man hired you to do, Cas, but hopefully you don’t handle all his negotiations.”

Cas leaned back against his seat, eyes on his brother, until finally one corner of his mouth hooked up in an awkward little smile that for the briefest moment made him seem as young and harmless as Gabriel. But it was gone too quickly, and the man was getting to his feet. 

“I’ll be in contact,” was all he offered before opening the door.

“You know how to find me,” Lucifer raised his voice, something softening the edges of his words, “any time… even if it’s not about this.”

Cas looked back, and a faint reminder of that smile flickered through his eyes. “Lu, get the hell out of here before I kill you myself.”

The room was very quiet when Cas left, his footfalls down the hallway fading almost instantly, and leaving Dean alone with the heartbeat pounding in his ears and the sound of Lucifer’s tense breaths.

“I didn’t know you had a third brother,” he said to try and ease that heavy feeling that took up the place that the dark haired man had left. 

“Dad stuck his dick in any warm, soft place he could find.” Lucifer said suddenly, glancing up at Dean with no humor on his face, only a tired, distant expression. “You’d be surprised just how many of us there are.”

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story is a bit violent, but I'm currently working in chapter 9 and it has these two fools arguing and spooning in bed and then some aggressive tie shopping, because apparently I can and will jam domestic fluff into any/every story XD

Fundamentally, Dean knew that he’d been hired to keep people from killing Lucifer, so a certain amount of murder attempts were a given. Dean just really hadn’t expected one so soon, or in broad daylight. 

But as he and the tall blond stepped out of the doors of Cross Roads, before Dean even had a chance to remember what direction the subway station was in, he heard a squeal of tires. That was the only warning he got, too. The high pitched sound of rubber burning against asphalt gave Dean half of a second to push Lucifer back through the doors to the strip club before they were assaulted by the deafening sound of bullets being released from an automatic.

A fairly high caliber automatic, was Dean’s detached thought, as he watched the black sedan speed off, the letters and numbers of the license plate blurring together as the pain hit Dean like a brick wall and he staggered against the club. The black glass door beneath his cheek was cracked with a lacelike pattern, which meant that some of those bullets had made it past Dean.

He meant to open the door and look inside to see if Lucifer was ok, but all he managed to do was slowly blink his eyes and keep his feet under himself. Anything else and apparently his body wasn’t interested in following orders. 

The door opened under him and he slid sideways, finding himself caught by a pair of steady arms. 

“You’re a terrible bodyguard,” Lucifer hissed against Dean’s ear and pulled him into the club. 

“Ok,” he staggered, struggling to keep his legs under himself as the pain in his shoulder spread outwards, determined to conquer his whole body, “but did you die?”

“No.”

“Because I’m awesome,” Dean tried a grin, but all he managed was wincing and looking up blearily at the man still holding him close. 

“You’re an idiot,” Lucifer countered, before turning away and yelling into the empty club, “A little help!”

Whatever Dean was expecting in the form of help paled in comparison to the fact that he suddenly found himself descended on by three lovely strippers who’d been getting ready for the club to open. The girls were only half dressed but they didn’t seem to let that slow them down as they helped Lucifer move Dean to the back (despite his protests that it was only his shoulder and he wasn’t about to die). 

The ladies fussed over him and pressed handfuls of cocktail napkins against the steady flow of blood, and they were by far the prettiest nurses he’d ever had.

“It’s a scratch,” he tried to tell the circle of women, knowing full well that it was not a scratch and if the bullet had hit slightly to the right then only help he’d be needing would be a mortician’s. 

“It went all the way through,” Lucifer’s voice was hard and unkind, “so stop moving around.”

“You got it, boss,” Dean weakly attempted a salute and got his hand slapped back down for his efforts. Some people couldn’t appreciate his sense of humor. Their loss. He smiled weakly at the dark eyed girl standing on his good side. “Hey, you doing anything later tonight?”

She pursed her lips and looked up at Lucifer. “Did he get hit in the head too?”

“No,” Lucifer grumbled, “he’s just an idiot.” He snapped his fingers in front of Dean’s face, getting his attention. “It  _ is _ just your shoulder. Right?”

“I don’t know, man. Everything just hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Lucifer shook his head, an irritated pinch between his eyebrows. “Thank you for your help, ladies. Can you go tell your boss we’re sorry for the mess, we’ll be out of here in a minute, and to send my family the bill for… whatever.”

The ladies nodded, solemnly handing over the injured man to Lucifer’s care, casting Dean worried little looks before filing out of the room with their spectacular asses. 

“Why’d you have to send away the strippers, man?” Dean looked sadly at the door that swung closed behind them. “They were the best thing that happened to me all week.”

“You have remarkably low standards,” Lucifer said without a hint of amusement. 

Dean tried to shrug but the movement opened his shoulder and back up to a world of pain that left him fighting to keep a whimper from escaping his throat. 

“What about ‘stop moving around’ was confusing to you?”

“The  _ ‘stop’ _ part,” Dean forced out through gritted teeth, cringing away from the man’s touch, but finding that he couldn’t get very far.

“I need to see how bad it is,” Lucifer dug his fingers into Dean’s jacket, keeping him firmly where he was. 

“Told you. It’s a scratch. Just surprised me is all,” he reached up to grab hold of the other man’s arm with his good hand. “Give me a minute and I’m good to go.”

“Dean. Shut up.” Lucifer didn’t leave much room for argument as he helped Dean out of his jacket with surprising care. But then he was pulling at the belts of Dean’s shoulder holster, clumsily getting it out of the way while trying to keep the blood soaked napkins pressed against the well of pain in Dean’s upper arm. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean tugged at the sleeve he was holding, trying to stop the man from disarming him, “at least buy me a drink first, Luci.”

“Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” Lucifer looked up, a whole lot of blue showing in his eyes, his pupils pulled down to tiny little pinpricks of ink. He was worried.

Dean licked his lips, clenched his jaw, and stopped fighting the man, though instinctively he was very,  _ very _ against Lucifer undressing him. 

Shoulder holster off. Tie pulled free of his collar. The first couple buttons of his shirt coming undone so that Lucifer could wetly peel the ruined shirt up and off the holes in Dean’s shoulder. 

A nauseating roll pitched in Dean’s stomach and he let his head fall back, because there was no way he was going to be able to look at his injury right then without losing it a little. It wasn’t his first time being shot, and it wasn’t the worst injury he’d had by far. 

But whatever pain he thought he was in doubled as Lucifer flattened the palms of both hands over the entrance and exit wounds and pressed down hard. 

The edges of Dean’s vision went white and he could hear himself quietly threatening Lucifer with breathy words that all ran together. 

It hurt. 

Whatever the hell the other man was doing to him felt like live coals were being pressed into the raw muscle of his shoulder, and Dean couldn’t get enough air into his burning lungs. 

And then the pain was gone, leaving Dean feeling like someone had sucker punched him in the shoulder, which was a surprising upgrade. 

He slowly opened his eyes to a very dark room, not able to make out any of his surroundings other than the faint outline of the man still looming over him and gripping his shoulder like he was worried he’d fall if he let go. Dean would have bruises left in his shoulder from those long fingers for weeks afterwards. 

“Who put out the lights?” He asked, his throat raw.

Lucifer didn’t answer. He only peeled his fingers away from Dean’s skin, leaving behind a sore, oddly warm feeling, before opening the door to the room and letting in some of the dim neon lights from the main room of the club. 

Dean wasn’t sure where they were exactly. He didn’t remember any stairs, just a whole lot of  _ ow _ , and some cute girls. 

Shaking from adrenaline that suddenly had nowhere to go, he looked at his shoulder and saw only a whole lot of blood that was already cooling against his skin, and a slick, pink scar where the bullet had entered the muscle of his shoulder.

It explained what had happened to the lights. 

Lucifer had healed him. 

Fingers feeling clumsy and numb, Dean fumbled closed the buttons of his shirt and pulled his shoulder holster back into place, double checking that his guns were where they should be. 

“Why didn’t you do that to yourself last night?” He asked, slipping his bloodied jacket back into place, looking sideways at the man still standing in the doorway. 

“That’s not how magic works,” Lucifer said, oddly not meeting Dean’s eye.

He could feel the man’s gaze fixed on his chest, and he  _ knew _ that through the excitement and the blood, Lucifer had seen the tattoo over his heart. 

“Pretty nice, right?” Dean smiled, standing despite the way his legs felt like jelly. He patted the once more hidden tattoo, mind racing for a good cover up. “Me and a couple of the guys who worked for Benny all got a little drunk one night and…” he shrugged, wishing he could read the other man well enough to see how well his lie was landing. 

“We should get out of here before police show up,” was all that Lucifer said before stepping out of the room and leaving Dean to chase after him or be left behind. 

**________________________________________**

Gabriel met them at the door to the Williams’ home that Sunday evening, throwing his arms around one of Dean’s and clinging to him like some sort of floppy haired marsupial. He looked up and grinned as if they were old friends, the thin white stick of a lollipop poking out of one rounded cheek. 

“Heya, Dean-o,” he half sang. 

Instantly Dean ached for his own little brother, but he pushed that feeling aside and made a show of trying to shake Gabriel off. “Hey, kid.”

“Heard you took a bullet for my Lu yesterday,” he rolled the lollipop to his other cheek with a flash of his stained purple tongue. “Did it hurt?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Dean followed Lucifer into the spacious house, no foreseeable escape from the kid hanging off his arm. 

“I’ve never been shot,” Gabriel rested his head on Dean’s arm, looking up at him while they walked. “At least not yet.”

“I’d recommend putting it off as long as you can,” he cautioned as they walked through a marbled foyer into what was probably called a ‘drawing room’ though Dean had no idea why. There were comfortable looking chairs and ornate side tables, walls of books, and a floor to ceiling window overlooking a manicured garden. 

There was also Michael sitting beside a striking woman who Dean recognised from pictures as Raphael or  _ ‘Elle’  _ Williams, half sister to the man he was supposed to be babysitting. 

Lucifer physically pried Gabriel off of Dean and nodded back the way they’d entered. “Go find yourself something to do. I don’t need you for a while.”

Dean nodded, but after two days of sticking to the man’s side like glue, he felt a little reluctant to leave. He knew Lucifer would be fine though. He was with his family, and there probably wasn’t a safer place in the whole world. 

The house layout reminded him of Benny’s place, a sprawling floor plan like the home had been put together with the single minded intention of impressing anyone who entered. Expensive, thick carpets that silenced his foot falls, sculptures and paintings decorating every corner, a full sized grand piano, and even an indoor fountain with small and lively red koi fish swimming to the dancing surface of the water to see if Dean was there to feed them.

Seeing as he’d grown up in a single bedroom farmhouse nestled in the shadow of Devil’s Backbone down in Southern Texas, walking through Elle Williams’ home was like strolling through a different world. But for the last six years Dean had done everything he could to fit into this world, and for a few moments at least he didn’t feel too terribly out of place.

He let his nose lead him to the scent of fresh coffee, finding the kitchen without much trouble. 

It was not an unoccupied room, and as Dean pushed his way through the swinging doors a square jawed man looked up from a game of solitaire that had been laid out over the kitchen island along with what looked to be fixings for dinner. 

The man studied Dean, raising a slow eyebrow, saying rather obviously, “I don’t know you.”

“Dean,” he offered one of those patented Winchester smiles before nodding to the pot of coffee near the sink. “Mind if I…?”

He nodded, watching Dean walk by, eventually introducing himself with a simple: “Gadreel.”

Dean rolled the name around on his tongue as he poured himself a much needed cup of coffee, wondering where a name like that would even come from.

“You’re the man who took a bullet for Lucifer yesterday,” Gadreel said like it was common knowledge. 

“News travels fast,” Dean tried to play it off, blowing on his coffee cup.

“No one is supposed to know about it, so naturally everyone does,” he cracked a smile, his eyes lingering on Dean’s mouth. “My sympathies.”

“Doesn’t hurt that bad,” he said with a modest grin.

“I meant you being stuck with Lucifer.” Gadreel turned back to his game of solitaire, laying down a two of clubs. “Pretty face like yours’ will be completely wasted on someone like him.”

Dean grinned into his coffee and let his legs carry him a little bit closer to that game of cards.

Ten minutes later his face was pressed into the bend of Gadreel’s throat, tasting the salt of his skin and trying his best to stifle his own moans as they stroked each other off. The other man’s hands were big and rough, and completely unapologetic and he gripped one of Dean’s hips and nearly pulled him off the counter’s edge where he’d been placed earlier. Their bodies were flush, Dean pressing his heels into the curve Gadreel’s firm ass, clinging to the other man because it had been far too long since he’d been able to wrap himself around anyone else.

This was his love life.

It’s how it had been for at least the past five years.

Not so much ‘ _ love _ ’, as just any quick and dirty fumble he could find during working hours, usually in a hall closet or a bathroom, usually while they were both fully clothed, because who even had time to undress when any minute their boss could need to call them back.

It was an unfair reality, which didn’t actually need a reminder―but nonetheless, they’d barely found their rhythm when Lucifer’s sharp voice cut through the eager sounds of Dean and Gadreel’s exploration.

“Dean! We’re leaving,” Lucifer barked, “Now.”

Dean raised his face from Gadreel’s shoulder, struggling to focus his gaze on the furious looking man standing in the kitchen doorway, a task that was borderline inhuman seeing as the big man he was wrapped around was still slowly stroking him with one calloused hand.

“Two minutes,” Dean begged, hating the way his voice sounded.

“Now,” Lucifer said, his own voice going flat, furious, leaving not a whole lot of room for argument. “Gadreel, put him down, or Elle will be spending the rest of her weekend planning your funeral.”

If Dean whimpered as his burly big friend plucked him off the counter and lowered him to the tile floor, it was only because he really, really wanted to cry at that carved out, incomplete feeling he was left with. He struggled with his pants and belt, barely having a chance to wash his hands before Lucifer was grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and forcibly dragging him from the kitchen like he was a disobedient child. 

He didn’t do well with being dragged around though, and the moment him and his boss were safely alone in the hall he shook himself free of Lucifer’s grip. 

“Two minutes,” Dean hissed between his teeth, his body still struggling with what exactly to do with all the endorphins burning in his system. “You couldn’t give me two god damned minutes, you cock blocking son of a bitch?” 

“We’re.Going.Home.”

Dean rescinded any halfway kind feelings he’d ever had for Lucifer.

He’d only known the man for two days, but he could kill him. 

With his bare hands, Dean could kill him.

The walk home was silent and uncomfortable and the trudge up the million steps that lead to Lucifer’s penthouse was torture. All Dean’s unspent sexual energy was forcibly channeled into talking himself out of shoving the taller man down and watching his bloody and broken body crumple sadly at the bottom of the stairwell.

Dean stopped Lucifer from entering the apartment first, making the man wait in the hall while he made sure that the place was safe―after all, at this point, if anyone was going to be allowed to kill Luci, it would be Dean.

“Alright, princess,” he called out after he double checked that there were no bad guys hiding in the depths of the closet. “You’re good to come in.” 

“Go take a shower,” Lucifer said in a clipped tone, the first words he’d spoken since leaving his sister’s place. “I can smell my brother’s stink on you.”

Not what Dean had expected to hear, and it put a hiccup in his inner tirade of frustration. He raised the arm that Gabriel had been hanging off of an hour ago, wondering if there actually was a lingering scent of candy on his clothes. “I… um, what doesn’t Gabriel even smell like?”

“ _ Gadreel _ ,” Lucifer said with disgust.

“Christ, man. How many brothers do you have?”

“Too many,” he growled, hooking two fingers around the knot of his tie and yanking it loose. 

Dean watched the other man's tie hit the floor, and wondered if the rest of the clothes littered around the apartment were from similar temper tantrums. 

He also wondered what was wrong with his brain that suddenly picked that moment to short circuit, all thoughts coming to a standstill as he watched Lucifer angrily throwing off his jacket and vanishing into his closet. The light inside flashed on for only a second, followed by the sound of the bulb breaking and then just darkness from around the edges of the half open door.

Dean shook himself, pushing his hands through his hair, trying to salvage this. It helped to remind himself that he had a bigger job here. Lucifer was not the end-game, he was a stepping stone.

“Well you wanna give me a goddamn list or something of who I can and can’t fuck while I’m stuck babysitting you?” He asked with as much snark as he could muster, because a list of the Williams’ extended family would be very interesting to his higher ups when he next got a chance to talk to them. 

“Everyone.” Lucifer yelled back from inside his dark closet. “The list is just  _ everyone _ .” 

So much for it being a helpful list.

“Alright. So it’s like that, is it,  _ Sister Mary Luci _ ?” Dean threw his arms up in frustration. “I’m taking a vow of celibacy, and then when exactly should I be expecting my chastity belt to arrive?” 

Lucifer emerged like an angry bear from his cave. The sharp white lines of his suspenders contrasting harshly against his half unbuttoned black shirt and lead the eye up to that perfect V of pale skin showing around his throat.

“Could you be more dramatic?” Lucifer demanded.

“I  _ could _ ,” Dean said unhelpfully.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t an unreasonable request, seeing as you’re apparently catnip to my family. So just save me the headache and keep it in your pants until I don’t have people shooting at me.”

“Understand that this comes from the bottom of my heart―” he folded his hands over his chest in an attempt to look as sincere as possible, “Luci, there is  _ always _ going to be someone out there who wants you dead, because you’re you, and the you that you are is a cruel son of a bitch who can’t give a man two fucking minutes.”

“Then I guess you’re going to be stuck  _ babysitting me _ for a very long time. So go take a goddamn shower.”

It had been a while since Dean had stomped out of a room, but it had also been a while since he’d had an argument that was both that frustrating, and that stupid. He was nearly thirty years old, but he felt like a sullen teenager who’d just had a fight with his parents.

He tossed his clean change of clothes onto the bathroom counter and shed his apparently Gadreel scented suit, before stepping into a shower turned to as hot as his skin could take it. Standing there in the cloud of steam, watching his arms and chest turning pink from the heat of the spray, Dean tried to calm himself. This was his own personal sauna. Quiet, soothing white noise of the water falling around him, the very almost painful burn of the shower distracting all his thoughts away from the infuriating man in the other room. 

Six years undercover, and Dean was going to blow all his hard work by killing some unimportant mafia princeling just because the man was a grade A cockblocking asshole.

Dean wasn’t that stupid though. 

He could do this.

Lucifer wasn’t worth this level of frustration.

The guy wasn’t anything more than a lot of noise.

Dean reached out and twisted the shower setting to slightly less blistering before stepping fully under the spray and tipping his face up to let his mouth fill with water.

Calm thoughts.

Quiet thoughts.

_ Remember why you’re here, Dean. _

Or remember the way that Gadreel’s hands had fit so perfectly around Dean’s slim hips, picking him up like he was nothing, manhandling him roughly like Dean was a present and he couldn’t wait to rip off the wrapping paper. They’d kissed like perfect strangers that would never meet again. No apology. Just taking.

And good god, but Dean would have given it to that man if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Already half hard, he let his mind and hands wander, trying to replicate the way that Gadreel’s fist had wrapped around him, those strong, sure strokes.

The bathroom door clicked and Dean’s eyes flew open. 

It was a large bathroom, with a soaking tub beneath a high window, and an enormous walk in shower with a bench in the back and smokey opaque glass doors that obscured the rest of the room aside from out of focus outlines and blocks of color. 

Though Dean couldn’t see who’d entered the room, he knew that tall, pale, ghost-like outline in the distance could only be one person.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean spit water, “even God got a day off, Luci. Can’t I  _ please _ just have five minutes to myself?” 

“Did he give you anything?” Lucifer’s words were almost easy to miss under the sound of water pounding over Dean.

He blinked in confusion. “ _ God _ ?”

“My brother.”

He retreated to the furthest corner of the shower like it would somehow make a difference, though his brain told him that if he couldn’t see Lucifer, then Lucifer couldn’t see him. The fact still remained that Dean was stark naked and in a fairly compromised state of mind.

“No,” Dean yelled, partially to be heard over the shower, and partially out of pure frustration. “He didn’t give me a damn thing.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean let his head fall back against the wall tiles, as he silently prayed for strength. “Your brother offered me coffee, that you didn’t give me a chance to finish… kind of like that orgasam he offered me―didn’t get a chance to finish that either.”

“Did you give  _ him _ anything?”

“Other than my mouth and my dick? No.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Lucifer’s shadow moved closer to the sink area. “I mean like a handshake, or information, or even your full name?”

It was a weird enough question that Dean momentarily stowed his frustrations. “No? I don’t think so at least.” He pushed his wet hair up off his forehead, trying to think. “Told him my name was Dean, helped him a bit with his game of solitaire, he told me I had beautiful eyes… does a compliment count as giving me something?”

“No,” Lucifer said, followed by a long sigh. “No. We’re probably fine then.”

“ _ We _ ?”

“Me― I mean―  _ I _ . I’m fine.”

Dean squinted through the steam. 

It took a moment, but Lucifer asked, “What  _ is _ your last name? You never gave it to me.”

The light over the mirror and counter made an odd buzzing sound for a moment, just loud enough to hear over the rush of water.

“Winchester,” Dean answered without a thought, and then felt his eyes go wide as his brain caught up with his mouth. That was a name he’d left back in Texas years ago. It was absolutely not the name he’d given to Benny, or to Michael, and he had no idea why he’d said it.

“Like the rifle?” Lucifer asked.

Shit shit shit.

Dean swallowed and nodded, then got his mouth to form a hopefully casual sounding, “Yup.”

“So, no brand loyalty?”

Pushing past the internal panic of what he’d just done, Dean couldn’t manage much more than a confused sound that didn’t want to leave his throat.

“Looks like you’ve got a Smith and Wesson, and a Colt.” Lucifer’s shadow shifted on the other side of the glass, and Dean could just make out the sound of metal sliding over the marble of the countertop. 

“Rifle doesn’t really hide well under the jacket,” Dean said, his mouth dry.

“Fair enough,” the words light and sounding suspiciously like they tapered off into a laugh. 

Dean squinted harder at the clouded glass.

“I’m going to bed,” Lucifer shifted toward the still open bathroom door. “Wake me if someone shows up to kill me.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Dean forced out, waiting until he was sure the other man was gone, before sinking wearily down to sit on the slick surface of the bench and putting his face in his hands.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re-reading through this chapter before posting and feeling that very grateful feeling that comes from writing fanfiction over original stories.   
> One of the nicest things is that I can just say a name like Bobby or Sam and y'all instantly have a mental image of how they look and how they sound and I don't have to do any heavy lifting at all.   
> This chapter is also a nice bridge point for a whole lot of weird flirting between Luci and Dean :D   
> I love them so much

“Where are you going?”

Dean hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder to the lump on the bed. “Stepping out for a smoke.”

Lucifer grunted and rolled over, a sliver of his cheek lit by the moonlight coming in the big bank of windows. “Take my key then. I don’t want to have to get up and let you back in.”

Truthfully, Dean didn’t smoke, but he still took the cigarette case from his bag, his lighter, and Lucifer’s keys.

“There’s a convenience store down on twelfth street,” came the other man’s sleep thick voice, “bring me back some Hostess cupcakes.”

“I’m not your butler. I’m your bodyguard.” Dean argued out of habit, already tasting that cheap chocolate and cream on his tongue. Not that chocolate was a substitute for sex, or would somehow erase how badly he’d screwed up tonight―but he really needed something to go his way, and if all he could get was a cupcake, then he’d take it.

“Guard my body from the dangers of low blood sugar then,” Lucifer demanded, his wallet sailing through the air to hit the floor a couple yards short of Dean. “And a cream soda.”

Grumbling, he scooped up the wallet and jammed it into his pocket before hurrying from the apartment and locking the door behind.

It had only been two days and Dean felt like he was going crazy cooped up in there with that man.

God, but he missed working for Benny.

For starters, the vampire lived on the ground floor. 

Dean ticked off every other thing that he was missing from his previous job as he jogged down the stairs, and then walked, and then took a short break, before finally getting out into the crisp night air. 

He pulled out one of the long black cigarettes and placed it between his lips, lighting it and letting the lavender colored smoke trail behind him as he walked. Tobacco and vaping might be illegal in most public places, but all those public health laws hadn’t yet come down on the unscented ‘vitamin cigarettes’ that had become popular over the last couple years. Technically they were  _ magic _ , and that changed how they were regulated and taxed, and it all still fell into a grey area. 

Most of the ones on the market were energy supplements of some sort or another, very basic potions that helped promote focus, or to lighten the smoker’s mood. Very,  _ very _ basic potions. 

Or, for Dean, they worked as a signal to the people who were watching him. A minute trail of smoke that said ‘I need to talk’.

It wasn’t long before someone ducked out of a nearby skyrise and matched his pace, headed the same direction but with ample room between them. Out of the corner of Dean’s eye he saw a familiar age lined face shadowed under the brim of a battered Yankees baseball cap.

They walked together for half a block before the old man asked, “Got a light?”

Dean stopped, offering Bobby Singer the smallest smile that to anyone watching wouldn’t look like anything more than general politeness. “Yeah, old man,” he said, pulling out his lighter and handing it over.

“Old man, my ass,” Bobby grumbled.

“I fucked up,” Dean said, taking back his lighter as he resumed walking, the older FBI agent dogging his stepps.

“How bad?” 

“Don’t know yet.” He shrugged, blowing out smoke, not particularly linking how it made his head feel. “He knows my real name.”

“The spooky fella?”

Dean snorted and nodded, looking around at the street signs to see if he’d reached twelfth yet. Two more blocks. 

“You think he’s gonna run a background check on you an’ find… what exactly?”

He shrugged again. “Don’t know. But if he asks around or looks at my ID he’s gonna notice that something doesn’t match up.”

“You saying you wanna be reassigned?”

Would he like to get the hell away from Lucifer Williams? 

Yes.

Would he like to throw away six years of undercover work just because some jerk had found a way under his skin like no one else had in a very long time? 

No.

Dean could do this. 

He’d come too far to back out over some stupid little slip up.

“Nah. I’m fine. I’ll think of something if he brings it back up.” Dean crossed a street, the bright lights of the convenience store calling to him. He went to say something else, but noticed that the other man was already gone. 

Feeling inexplicably lonely, Dean did his shopping and walked back to the penthouse. 

Exhausted by the time he finished climbing the stairs, he kicked the door closed and unscrewed the cap on the cold cream soda he’d bought, taking a long drink before setting it on the little bedside table closest to the lump of blankets.

“I saw that,” Lucifer softly accused from deep within his hiding place.

“You didn’t see anything,” Dean challenged, setting down one of the packages of cupcakes beside the soda before going to the same little corner of the couch he’d slept on the night before. 

The bedsprings complained as Lucifer sat up almost gleefully and tore into the cellophane wrapping of his Hostess cakes. It was a visual that reminded Dean of Gabriel eating his doughnuts the day before, far too excited about the junk food, little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

But then Dean reminded himself of just how much he disliked Lucifer, and he turned away, seeing to his own little package of chocolatey cakes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one, but he was sure he’d been splitting the treat with his little brother, distant memories of leaning against their dad’s old black car outside of some gas station with the scent of dust and petrol in his nose. 

Sense memories were weird like that, and as he dissected the little round chocolate sponge cake, he swore he could almost hear Sammy’s giggle, and the kid mumbling around a mouth full of cake while telling Dean to stop pulling it apart and just eat it all at once like a normal person.

The skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickled, goosebumps suddenly marching down his spine, and he turned to look back at the bed. 

Lucifer was watching him with an odd, wide eyed expression.

It wasn’t a look of fear or concern, and it took Dean pulling the two sticky fingers from between his lips, and seeing the way that Lucifer’s eyes darted to his mouth, for Dean to recognise the other man’s expression. 

It was the same way that Gadreel had looked at him earlier, right before he’d smashed Dean against the counter. 

The smart part of Dean realised that when Gadreel had told him that his ‘ _ pretty face was wasted on someone like Lucifer _ ’ the man hadn’t meant that Luci was straight (which had been Dean’s first assumption). What he’d actually meant was that the blond had that stick so far up his ass that there wasn’t room for anything else.

But that wasn’t a thought that Dean had until hours later when he was laying on the couch wrestling with sleep. 

What he actually thought in the moment was, ‘ _ fuck you, dude’ _ .

Dean raised just his middle finger, dipping it into the cream center of his cupcake, taking a healthy amount of that chemically flavored cream, before meeting Lucifer’s eye and slowly licking the tip of his finger clean. 

In the dark of the apartment, with only the blueish moonlight coming in through the windows, the slight blush to Lucifer’s cheeks was hard to see―hard but not impossible.

Dean let his eyelids flutter as he slipped his whole finger past his lips, letting a lewd rumble low and hungry in his chest. It was shameless, and entirely worth it to see the way the other man shifted uncomfortably, his lips parting as he took a harsh breath.

Pulling his finger back out of his mouth, Dean grinned, pointedly keeping his middle finger up and angled towards the man on the bed. 

“You couldn’t even give me two minutes,” Dean reminded, before laying back on the couch and tossing the rest of his cupcake onto the coffee table, mumbling loud enough he was sure to be heard, “wake me if someone breaks in to kill you,” throwing Lucifer’s words from early back at him.

Dean settled into the couch, one leg dangling off so his foot could reach the floor, feeling far too smug with himself. 

Smug, but also a little turned on again.

Good god, but he hated Lucifer.

**____________________**

It was sometime in the early morning when Dean woke. There weren't any clocks in the apartment, so he’d just have to take the hazy, faint light as meaning sometime around dawn. The time wasn’t super important to him though, because sitting on the coffee table, was Lucifer, his long legs nearly brushing Dean’s shoulder.

The man was far too close, and seemed to be eating the rest of Dean’s cupcake, chewing slowly and watching Dean with lidded eyes.

If he was waking up to nearly any other human being looming over him, slowly licking traces of cream from the corners of his mouth, Dean would have been pushing up off the couch to help. As it was, he had to fold his hands over his stomach to keep from reaching out and running a thumb up the inseam of Lucifer’s leg.

“Cocky, son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled, hoping that the roughness of his voice would be mistaken just for sleepiness. “Why the hell are we awake this early?”

“We’re going shopping,” Lucifer said simply, tossing the last bite of cupcake into his mouth.

“It’s  _ dawn _ .”

“That's the best time to hit up the farmer’s market.” Lucifer reached over and prodded Dean’s shoulder. “Get dressed.”

“I am dressed,” Dean pulled the edges of his flannel over-shirt together. After last night’s shower he’d simply slipped into jeans and a couple layers of shirts because he would literally lose his mind if he had to wear a suit every moment of every day. 

The way that Lucifer was looking at him though, said that perhaps denim and plaid and a Black Sabbath tee might not fully comply with company dress code.

Grumbling, always grumbling, Dean got up, and paused, nearly eye to eye with the other man. He reached up and used his thumb to dust away a couple dark crumbs from the corner of Lucifer’s lips. 

“Yeah alright,” Dean said, trying not to grin at the look of discomfort on the other man’s face. “Give me a minute to get back into my monkey suit and we can go get whatever the hell it is people get at farmer’s markets.” 

Apparently people bought fresh baked bread, and ‘artisanal’ honey (which Dean was fairly certain was just a fancy word tacked on to anything with an inexplicable twenty dollar markup), and a small basket of out of season strawberries. 

Which were all things that could have been purchased from a nice grocery store, and wouldn’t have required Dean to be shivering on the slightly icy pavement at dawn. 

He quietly suspected that this was somehow a deliberate punishment in the wake of all the things he’d done wrong yesterday. 

Rubbing his hands together to get the warmth back in his fingertips, he scanned the crowd of customers, mostly old retired couples, and a few hipster looking types (undoubtedly here for the  _ artisanal _ foods). No one looked particularly dangerous, or like they might be planning to shoot at Lucifer any time soon, no one other than Dean at least. 

He trudged after the other man, weaving through the little pop up canopies from stall to stall, apparently needing to look at every single god damn thing. The worst part of it was that Lucifer did it all with a smile. He spoke to every little business owner like he’d known them for years, calling most of them by their name and asking questions that had nothing to do with what they were selling. 

“And how is your  _ abuela _ ?” Lucifer was asking a younger woman who had a long dark braid pulled over one shoulder. “Has the cough come back?”

“No,” the girl beamed, actually coming out from behind her tables to pull the towering man down into a fierce little hug. “That  _ poción _ you made for her,  _ ella esta bien _ .  _ Gracias _ ,  _ seño _ r _ Louis. _ ”

“I’m just glad it helped,” Lucifer said in the nicest, gentlest voice, giving the girl a gentle squeeze before letting her go. “You tell her I miss her. Shopping just isn’t the same when I don’t get to see her beautiful face.”

“You’re terrible,” the girl laughed, lightly pushing at Lucifer. “You know she’s serious when she says she’d marry you.”

“Yes, well, that would be very awkward for your grandfather,” he laughed.

Dean stood there feeling like he’d woken up in the Twilight Zone. 

“I’ll see you next week, Carla,” Lucifer bid his farewell, leaving Dean to follow after.

“Is this some kind of mojo you’re working, or do these people actually all know you and like you?” Dean had to know.

Lucifer glanced back, putting on the first frown he’d had all morning. 

“I’m just having a hard time believing that anyone would actually be happy to see you.” Dean tried to clarify.

One thing that Lucifer was very good at was looking like a man who was visibly contemplating homicide. He shouldered his bag, eyes the color of rain clouds as he held both hands out to Dean, palms up. “Tell me what you see here.”

“That you bite your nails?”

The man’s nostrils flared, making him look like a bull seeing red. “No, Dean. Strong hand. You see strong hands with long fingers that would fit oh so perfectly around that throat of yours if we were not currently in public.”

“Never really been into breath-play, boss,” Dean tilted his head to one side, contemplating those pale hands currently being offered to him, doing his best to be an insufferable ass. “But sure, I can play along. You on top or underneath me when you’re having these little fantasies?”

Lucifer’s fingers curled into tight fists, little angry spots of color showing on his cheeks before he turned away and silently continued his window shopping. 

Dean felt like he’d won that round, but also was aware that he was probably toeing this particular line a little too hard and maybe he needed to back down. It would be a huge set back to be sent back to Benny’s―and a worse set back to be found dead tomorrow, strangled and floating in the river.

They made their way to a tent that sat on the outskirts of the market, and instantly Dean noticed that this one was different. The older gentleman behind the table could have been anyone, and the people browsing his goods were unremarkable. The good themselves though?

Magic.

Nothing overtly powerful or dangerous. The tabletop displaying paper strips crammed with complicated letters, or little neatly tied pouches to tuck into a pocket, or stone and metal charms that could be looped onto a necklace or bracelet and worn against the owner’s skin. 

They were all very legal, and most of them were fakes, Dean could tell even without touching them. This one was supposed to be for luck, that one for vitality, and that one for focus. It was all the same sort of nonsense that had been available to the public before  _ real _ magic had become common knowledge. Only nowadays burning sage or keeping a piece of quartz in your pocket wasn’t just for the earth loving hippies or superstitious housewives. 

Problem was, ‘magical’ objects that were supposedly made for something as vague as ‘you’ll sleep better’ were pretty damn easy to fake. Did you sleep better because you put this piece of paper on the wall over your bed? Great. Were you still tossing and turning all night? Well, then you just weren't using the charm right.

Magical charms were the equivalent of this year’s exercise fad, or weight loss gimmick. 

If you wanted something with  _ real _ magic in it, you weren't going to find it in a farmer’s market priced at three for ten dollars. 

Dean watched Lucifer browsing, those long-fingered strangling hands of his lightly skimming over the neatly arranged little satchels on the far end of the table.

Eventually the man running the stall finished up with the older couple he’d been helping, handing them an envelope of tea leaves and a wink in exchange for a twenty. Then the man came over to help Lucifer, and the smile he’d been wearing seemed to go up a notch or two. 

Dean had a feeling it had something to do with the expensive cut of Lucifer’s tailored suit. 

“Ah, and what can I help you two gentleman with?” The man asked with the voice of a used car salesman. “Obviously you’re not needing something to help bring money or love your way, but maybe you’re looking for something to help…  _ spice up your love life _ . You know, keep the magic going all night.” He winked at them. 

Dean instantly liked the guy, if only because his comment looked like it really, really rubbed Lucifer the wrong way. 

All of the blond’s early chattiness seemed like a distant memory, and Lucifer scowled as he lifted one of the little bags and held it up to examine it more closely. “I was actually in the market for something for a friend.”

“Of course, of course,” the guy kept going with his smiles. “What sort of something were you looking for?”

“He’s really less of a friend and more of an old business partner.” Lucifer set down the bag and looked pointely at the seller. “We had a bit of a falling out over some miss-appropriated funds. I was hoping you had something that I could send him to… show I have no hard feelings.”

The man behind the table’s expression changed, his smile becoming a shark’s grin. “Just how forgiving are you feeling exactly?”

“Not very,” Lucifer leaned over the table, closer to the man as his voice dipped lower. “I was thinking somewhere in the two thousand dollar range.”

“I think I’ve got what you need, but… it’s a whole lot of  _ forgiveness _ . The kind your business partner won't be able to forget. I couldn’t let it go for less than five grand.”

Lucifer folded his arms over his chest, pursing his lips as he thought. He glanced back at Dean, dragging him into this for whatever reason. “What do you think?”

Dean wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t some happy friendly charm they were talking about. This was a hex. Lucifer was legitimately asking to buy a curse for someone and he wanted to haggle on the price. 

He shrugged as disinterestedly as he could, playing along and keeping all the unease he was feeling out of his voice. “I don’t know. Seems a little steep.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Lucifer nodded.

“Oh,” the salesman wasn’t about to let them go once he saw that he had them on the line. “But this is some top quality forgiveness. Unforgettable and more importantly,  _ untraceable _ .”

Lucifer raised a hand to his mouth, tugging at his lower lip in thought. “Three,” was his counter offer.

“Four,” the man’s eyes glinted.

“Three,” Lucifer repeated.

“I’m running a business here,” he laughed, gesturing to all his little charms and trinkets. “Three seventy-five.”

“Three fifty,” Lucifer said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “and you throw in one of your more expensive…  _ party favors _ .”

“Do you want to see something good, or feel something good?” The man asked with a grin, obviously pleased that they’d come to an agreement. 

“Surprise me.” Lucifer smiled, even though he hadn’t struck Dean as a man who enjoyed surprises.

The questionable salesman dug around beneath his table and came back with a slim wooden box, setting it down and patting the lid. “You’ll find another one of these little charm bags in here, add something of your business partner’s. Tuck it away among his things, somewhere where it won't be disturbed like behind some books, or the back of a desk drawer.”

Lucifer nodded slowly, pulling out his wallet and asking, “That’s all?”

“Sometimes the simplest tricks are the best ones,” the old man held a hand out for the money. 

It was a fast exchange, a stack of hundred dollar bills for one box and a small unmarked envelope that came with the promise of ‘ _ a good time for both you boys _ ’. 

Dean watched the items get tucked into Lucifer’s canvas bag along with the bread and honey they’d bought earlier, and then they were walking out of the market the same way they’d come in. 

“Just out in broad daylight like then, huh?” Dean mused, giving the shopping bag some heavy side eye. He couldn’t feel anything radiating from the bag, nothing inherently sinister, but that just meant that if they did work then they’d be like the colt he kept stashed at the small of his back. A magical item that needed a knowing hand to make it work. 

“Were you expecting me to purchase my illegal magic in the back of a dark alley like some kind of drug addict?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “But I know Benny’s got a guy, some kind of dealer he contacts whenever he needs a custom job done. More direct stuff too, so you’re not dealing with hex bags and whatever.”

Lucifer didn’t turn his head to look at Dean as he said rather simply, “I  _ am _ Benny’s dealer.”

Dean nearly missed a step. He’d been needling for information but he hadn’t actually expected to get any.

Either not noticing or not caring about Dean’s uncharacteristic silence, Lucifer kept on, “This isn’t about buying a hex. If I want someone to disappear I have much more direct ways to do it.”

“Ways involving those strong, strangle-y hands of yours?” Dean joked because it gave him time he needed to digest the other man’s unexpected confession. 

“No, Dean,” he finally looked over, one corner of his mouth angling up in amusement, “I’m saving these strangle-y hands just for you.”

“Promises, promises,” Dean murmured, his brain still running on autopilot as he struggled to remember all the bits of bad magic that Benny had commissioned over the years when he needed to ‘deal with’ someone who’d crossed him. 

Somewhere in the midst of all the people catering, and the cold spring breeze, and nearby traffic, someone called Dean’s name. He ignored it at first. He didn’t know anyone who would willingly attend a farmer’s market at the asscrack of dawn, so the likelihood of him being the ‘Dean’ that was being yelled for was pretty slim. 

Lucifer lifted his head though, glancing back behind them, his eyes widening just a touch. 

That was the only real warning that Dean got before arms were enveloping him from behind, squeezing the surprised breath out of him. He didn’t recognise the contact as friendly at first. He wasn’t used to being hugged and his first instinct was to go for his gun, only to realise that his arms were fairly trapped. 

Lucifer offered zero help, his soft laughter being Dean’s first hint that this wasn’t some kind of attack. 

Dean twisted in the crushing grip, managing to turn around just enough to see dimples and brown hair hanging down around the jaw of a man who had to be at least half a head taller than himself―which officially put this guy beyond tall and into giant territory.

“Hey, um,” Dean struggled, not really able to free himself unless he was willing to throw a punch. 

“Dean,” the guy couldn’t even be twenty years old, his cheeks still baby soft. “Oh my god, Dean. I’d almost given up on finding you.” He beamed down, looking just like an excited puppy.

It was a smile that went right to Dean’s heart like a shot, opening old wounds and old memories, and something halfway between a laugh and a sob caught in the back of his throat. He hugged the other man. He hugged his baby brother, fighting to get his arms up around the kid’s broad shoulders, and when the hell had he gotten so goddamn tall?

“Sammy,” Dean finally got out, wanting to cry. “Look at you, kiddo. Fuckin’ look at you.”

“Look at  _ me _ ? Look at yourself.” Sam stepped back, holding Dean at arm’s length and looking at him with wet eyes. “I thought you’d rather die then learn to tie a tie.”

“Your new boyfriend looks a little young, Dean,” Lucifer drawled, butting into the happy reunion. 

Sam turned that hundred watt smile towards their audience, seeming to take in Lucifer’s suit and scowl, and then didn’t even bat an eye. “Sorry. Ha, no. I’m his brother, Sam,” he explained with a laugh, but then his smile went odd as if a thought suddenly dawned on him, and he turned back to Dean. “Is that why you really ran away? Because you’re gay? Because mom and dad, they said there was some fight that―”

Dean stomped on his brother's foot as he pulled him into another hug, hissing in his ear, “Shut up right now.  _ Please _ .”

He hadn’t used his own last name in years for a reason. 

If anyone asked, he was an only child and his parents had died in a fire when he was four. 

Dean didn’t have family and he didn’t have close friends because in his line of business ties like that were nothing but a liability, a weakness that someone could use against him. Or, worse than that, they were ties to his past and a dead give away to anyone willing to do a little digging, that Dean wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Please,” Dean repeated, slowly letting go. 

Sam looked at him uncertainly, but then covered it up with a smile and a nod. 

“This is very cute and all,” Lucifer looked from Dean to Sam and then back, “I’ve got to meet Michael for breakfast.”

Just as simple as that. 

Dean hadn’t seen his brother in nearly ten years and already it was time to say goodbye because Dean had to get back to work. 

It shouldn’t hurt so bad, but it did. 

It really did.

Dean swallowed down that ache and wondered if that kind of pain could actually kill him, but Sam was sliding an arm around his shoulders and smiling at Lucifer.

“I was just thinking it was time for breakfast,” Sammy said, that big ol’ smile right back in place.

Pressed against his brother’s side, Dean could feel that soft whisper of magic on the air, prickling the hair on the back of his neck and he didn’t know if he should be impressed or intimidated. 

In the years they’d been apart, Sam had fully grown into his magic, and the effortless smile the kid wore made it look just as easy as breathing. 

“I’d love to join you guys if that’s ok,” Sam asked, but he asked it like he already knew the answer.

When they’d been kids Sam had anyone and everyone wrapped around his little finger, all it ever took was a few words and a smile and he could get away with anything. It used to knock him out cold though. Rearranging people’s emotions wasn’t small magic, and typically poking around in someone else’s heart and head would leave Sam borderline comatose for hours afterwards. 

He wasn’t a kid any longer though, and he didn’t even bat an eye as he grinned at Lucifer. So expectant and happy.

“No,” Lucifer said flatly, “it’s not ok.”

Sam’s smile faltered and he narrowed his eyes. “I haven't seen my brother since I was seven years old. I’d really like to come with you guys.”

Lucifer’s gaze flicked to Dean and he raised an eyebrow. “So that inability to listen runs in your family, does it?”

Dean wished he could answer that. He cleared his throat and slipped out from under his brother’s arm. “It’s alright, Sammy. Maybe later today or something.”

Sam wasn’t listening though. Sam was taking a curious step towards Lucifer, and the older man wasn’t backing down, he was just watching the lanky teen edge closer with a deepening frown. 

Lucifer took a sudden step back in the same fluid moment that Sam reached out to touch his arm. 

It wasn’t the kind of situation that had the option of a good outcome. 

Dean forcibly put himself between them, practically standing on Lucifer’s shoes and making sure that the other man didn’t have a choice to look at anyone other than him. “When is Michael expecting you?”

Lucifer blinked slowly, his eyes flicking over Dean’s shoulder and narrowing. “Soon… your brother can come too,” he said without any of the usual eagerness that Dean remembered people having when they agreed to whatever Sam was asking for. 

“I’d rather he didn’t,” Dean said through clenched teeth, trying very hard not to say ‘please’ because that would give away just how very much he was against this. 

Unexpectedly, Lucifer laid a hand over Dean’s chest, his fingers cold through the layers of fabric. “But he  _ wants  _ to come, and he hasn’t seen you in so long,” Lucifer whispered but there was no intimacy in it, just a subtle, underlying threat. His hand slid under Dean’s jacket, fingers pressing into the fresh scar in his shoulder. His pale eyes came back to Dean’s face and he held his gaze for far too long before saying, “I feel like you two have an awful lot of catching up to do.” 

“I’m here with you to do a job. I can catch up with him later.”

Lucifer’s hand moved again, siding up to Dean’s neck, his thumb fitting perfectly in the dip below his adam’s apple. “But he really,  _ really _ wants to come with us, Dean. How am I supposed to tell him no? How can anyone tell someone like him no when he asks like that?”

“There’s no harm in it, and you know it.” Dean squared his shoulders, refusing to flinch. “He was just asking. He’s just a dumb stupid kid.”

“A kid who can hear you guys,” Sam pointed out. “And I’m sorry for… you know....  _ pushing _ . I didn’t know you were like us.”

“Like us,” Lucifer repeated, his breath ghosting over Dean’s mouth. “And what are  _ we _ ?”

“Just a normal bodyguard,” Dean said deliberately, “and a scary son of a bitch who made his point, and a dumb kid who is still learning to shut up.”

Lucifer slowly released his grip, smoothing his hand over Dean’s tie almost gently. “Younger brothers are all like that. Come on, Michael is probably waiting and getting pissy that I’m late.” He turned and started walking away. He was always walking away like a cocky son of a bitch and Dean hated it. 

But he didn’t have much of a choice other than to follow. 

Follow Lucifer like a shadow, cringing when he heard Sam’s footsteps join his own. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Sam whispered. “I didn’t know your boyfriend was so sensitive.”

“He’s not my  _ boyfriend _ ,” Dean made a face, missing that happy, lighter than air feeling he’d had only minutes before, “he’s my boss’ brother.”

“I  _ am _ your boss,” Lucifer said over his shoulder. 

Dean shook his head at Sam, mouthing ‘ _ no he’s not’. _

He didn’t know what his kid brother had been up to all these years they’d been apart, other than growing as tall as a tree. He didn’t know how or why Sam had come so far to find him. 

But he did know that, if they made it through breakfast, he’d start teaching Sammy the subtle art of shutting the hell up.

It wasn’t a very long walk to the BlackRabbit, only a few blocks from Lucifer’s penthouse, and Dean’s mental map of this part of town felt a bit more complete.

The three of them passed through the funeral parlor front, Lucifer hardly nodding to an alert looking man with arms as big around as Dean’s waist. Apparently the daytime security didn’t care as much for keeping up the appearance of a ‘normal business’ and just went straight for intimidation. 

Another bouncer waited at the bottom of the hidden stairway, and he could have been a twin to the man upstairs, square meaty face and built like a brick wall. He obviously recognised Lucifer, letting the blond pass without question, but fixing the Winchester boys with a scowl. 

More specifically, that warning look lingered on Sam who obviously didn’t belong here. The kid was in jeans and sneakers, a ratty grey hoodie and a lumpy knit scarf with matching beanie. He should be on his way to school, not slipping into a mafia run night club after hours.

The place had a different feel during the day. Even without windows, the club was brighter, dusky mood lighting traded for a warm UV glow. Dean saw what he hadn’t been able to the night he’d come in, inset alcoves high on the walls, filled with healthy, leafy plants. There was also one of those rippled glass walls with a thin sheet of water running over it. Ferns and fountains would have been out of place in a club meant for humans, but they did wonders for disrupting flows of magic and absorbing excess energies. 

If it wasn’t for Michael poised at one of the round tables, stirring his coffee while talking to a man on a laptop seated two tables away-- the club could have passed for a cozy cafe. 

Lucifer skirted the man with his laptop, giving him a wide berth, Dean and Sam trailing after like they were playing the least enthusiastic game of Follow the Leader. 

Dean couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man with the computer hurriedly saving the spreadsheet he had up before shutting the whole thing down in a borderline panic as if he was racing the clock. 

“We’ll pick this back up later,” Michael said nodding to the man, and his eyes seemed a little more deep set and sleep bruised than the last time Dean had seen him. 

The moment that the door closed behind the man with the computer, Lucifer slammed a hand down onto his brother’s table, rattling the coffee cup. “Take him back to Benny. I want a different body guard.”

Michael arched his eyebrows. “So, we’re starting early today I see.”

Lucifer set his shopping bag heavily on the table, rattling his brother’s coffee cup. 

“From what I hear he’s doing his job.” Michael pushed the bag away from his breakfast, fixing his brother with a flat expression. “Also, I’ve lost his receipt. You know you can’t return a bodyguard without a receipt.”

“You’re not funny,” Lucifer complained, sitting down with a heavy sigh. 

“And you’re not dead yet,” Michael glanced at Dean and gave him the smallest nod. “Did you see the shooter?”

“Didn’t even get the license plate number.” Dean shrugged his apology, he shifted to one side, weakly trying to keep himself between Sam and Michael even though he knew it was a lost cause.

“He has an anti-possession tattoo,” Lucifer thumbed over his shoulder towards Dean, not ready to let his complaint be ignored.

“And?” Michael said with a tired sigh, looking back to his brother.

“And,” Lucifer glanced back at Dean, his mouth a thin, angry line, “and I caught Gareel trying to… to fill him with his seed.”

“That is an incredibly disturbing mental image,” Michael assured, “but when I asked Benny for someone we could trust I didn’t specify that I wanted a magic-numb human, or someone unattractive, or even someone straight… if that’s the problem you’re trying to get at. I just wanted someone who could keep you alive.”

“And why do we even trust Benny?”

“Because Benny doesn’t have anything to gain from seeing you dead.” He set his cup down and very deliberately looked at Sam who had been quietly standing in the back of the group. “Are you waiting for Gabriel?”

“No, I―” Sam started but was immediately cut off.

“This is Dean’s brother,” Lucifer sat down with a  _ whump _ of breath before pulling the bread and honey from his shopping bag. He kept on talking, his words sharp and accusatory. 

Michael hesitated before reaching out for the bread. “Who’s Dean?” 

“The bodyguard you stuck me with,” the blond brother said through his teeth. “He apparently comes with a baby brother who just tried to weave some sort of enchantment on me.”

The eldest Williams turned a curious eye to Sam. “Did it work?”

Sam shook his head. “I, um, I just haven't seen Dean in a really, really long time and was trying to invite myself along to breakfast. It wasn’t anything… you know, dangerous, or anything.”

“You say that as if dangerous was an option,” Michael said as he pushed the coffee pot towards his brother, not taking his hard eyes from Sam’s sweet, innocent face. A wolf sizing up a lamb who’d strayed too far from the rest of the herd.

“I wouldn’t though. I swear. It’s just that I’ve been looking for him for years and I… I didn’t know your brother is a― a, I actually don’t know what he is. I’ve never had my magic not work on someone before. I think,” Sam’s rambling broke with strained laughter before he wisely said, “I’m way out of my league here.”

Dean could hear how the pitch in his brother’s voice was shifting, going a little higher with nerves. Kudos to the kid for recognising that this wasn’t a safe situation he’d found himself in, but it would have been a hell of a lot better if that sense of self preservation had kicked in back at the farmer’s market.

Michael pointed to the remaining chairs at the table. An instruction, not an invitation. 

“Don’t,” Lucifer said sharply, and it was anyone’s guess as to who exactly he was talking to. “This isn’t a job interview. The kid has nothing to do with us.”

“Then why did you bring him in?” Michael asked simply, turning back to Sam and Dean. “And why are you still standing?”

Dean took the seat closer to Michael, even though it made his skin crawl. 

It left Sam to sit between him and Lucifer, the lesser of the two evils as far as Dean was concerned. 

“He’s a good kid. Not mixed up in any of this life,” Dean said softly, scrambling to find a way to save his own skin and all the hard work he’d been at for so long, but to also keep his baby brother safe. 

“Unfortunately, we don’t get to decide what sort of life we get mixed up in.” Michael said dismissively, folding his hands on the tabletop and looking at Sam. “Where are you staying?”

“In a youth hostel out in Queens,” Sam said uneasily. 

Dean wanted to throw Sam over his shoulder and run out the door with him. The kid was too damn honest and open and it was only going to get him in more trouble.

“I’ll have more permanent housing set up for you,” Michael nodded mostly to himself, pulling out a small notepad from an inner pocket of his jacket and jotting something down. “Good enchantments are hard to come by. We can talk about money tomorrow evening.”

“Money?” Sam blinked in surprise, turning those wide eyes to Dean. “What money?”

“I don’t expect anyone to work for free,” Michael said with a sigh, like this whole conversation was starting to wear on him. “Ah, Gabriel. You’re finally awake.”

Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder to see the youngest Williams boy, swimming in an oversized sweatshirt and pajama pants covered in cartoon images of Cookie Monster. 

The kid was rubbing one eye, fixing the men at the table with a pout. “Someone’s in my seat.” 

Sam turned to look at Gabriel, instantly apologising and standing up.

“Gabe,” Michael called to his youngest brother, “take… whatever his name is… take him upstairs. Tell Zachary to get him a place to stay, and whatever else he needs.”

Gabe stood there looking at everyone with that sleepy expression for a very long time, blinking slowly, before finally reaching out and taking Sam by the hand. “Come on, big guy. You look like you want to have some Frosted Flakes with me. And coffee. Do you like coffee?”

“Um, sure?” Sam let himself be dragged back towards the door, glancing at Dean helplessly.

Dean was tempted to yell ‘run!’ but instead gave a little wave, and a promise he’d catch up with him later.

“You can go too,” Lucifer put no emotion in the words as he ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it directly into the honey jar.

“Stop being a child, Lu,” Michael said before tugging at the knot of his tie until it was loose enough for him to undo the first button of his shirt. “And don’t tell me that this is none of his business. He took a bullet for you. Clearly  _ you _ are his business.”

Lucifer’s cheeks darkened, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“And I have just the worst headache right now,” Michael continued irritably. “So hurry up and show me what you bought so I can go to sleep.”

Despite the anxiety he felt about Gabriel spiriting away Sammy to possibly never be seen again, Dean was inwardly living for how easily Michael bossed Lucifer around. 

With an angry sound, Lucifer spilled out the remains of his shopping bag, the wooden box clattering against the table top. He pushed it towards his brother, and then returned to ripping off small chunks of bread and scattering crumbs all around. 

Michael pulled a set of gold framed reading glasses from a pocket, setting them on the tip of his nose before carefully slipping open the box and removing its contents. A small cloth bag, almost exactly the same as the ones that they’d seen back at the market stall, only tied with a braided length of human hair instead of a nice, innocent ribbon like the others had been. 

Dean had never really been all that good with charms and hexes, or potions, or any of the more flashy types of magic. He didn’t really know the purpose of all the little sinister looking bits of bone and nails that Michael pulled out of the bag, but he could feel the  _ wrongness _ of it from where he sat and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed earlier. Reaching out, Dean prodded one finger at the empty box, turning the lid over to see the tiny inscriptions completely covering the underside. 

It felt almost as wrong as the fragments of human remains that were being arranged into a neat little line beside the bread and honey, and Dean scrubbed his hand over his leg to get the sickly feeling off his skin. 

Squinting through his precariously balanced glasses, Michael held up a blackened bit of bone about the length and width of a single finger joint. “Is this one of yours?” 

Lucifer took it, turning it over between his hands before frowning and popping it into his mouth.

“Why?” Michael demanded loudly. “Why are you tasting it?”

With a soft retching sound, Lucifer spit the bone back out into his own hand. “No,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of a wrist, “it’s not mine. That hair isn’t either.”

Michael set his glasses down on the table, shooting his brother a disgusted look. “And you’re sure you got it from one of our distributors?”

“No. I have no idea where I got it from,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “It just fell into my lap and I thought hey, I think I’ll bring this to Michael and waste his and my own time.”

“Not even god knows what goes on in that head of yours,” Micheal said with a shaking sigh. “It was a legitimate question. You didn’t know where the last one came from.”

“I know where I got this one, and it even came in one of my boxes, so it would be nice it you’d try to take this seriously.”

“I am, I am,” he soothed with a surprising touch of warmth in his voice.

Dean listened to it all, storing the conversation away in his memory as best he could. 

“I’ll take it to Dad,” Michael said, dumping the contents back into the little bag. “He might be able to trace it back, see where someone took one of your spells and turned it into… whatever this is.”

Dean stilled his hand. He’d only been working with the Williams for a handful of days, and this was the first mention he’d heard of the family’s patriarch. The files that Dean had been given at the beginning of all this business held nothing more than a birth certificate for Lucifer, and there was even less than that on Marlon Williams.

“Take it to,” Lucifer made a face, wrinkling his nose, “someone else. Anyone else.”

“You’re going to tell me that now you don’t trust Dad either?” Michael sounded pained. So very tired. He reached over and plucked the damp bit of bone from his brother’s hand and added it back to the bag. “I feel like your paranoia is getting the better of you.”

“Someone is trying to kill me, Mike. I’m allowed a little paranoia.”

Michael put his hands up in surrender. “Caution is fine. That’s why I brought Benny into this. But first you’re getting suspicious over Anna, then Virgil, then Elle and Gadreel. And now Dad? If you keep going like this you’re going to run out of family members.”

Lucifer folded his arms.

“Fine. I’ll keep Dad out of the loop for now,” Michael finally agreed, tossing the bag back into the box and replacing the lid, instantly smothering that feeling of wrongness that had settled into the air around them. “But if this goes much further I’m going to need to talk to him.”

“Michael. Don’t. I can handle this on my own.”

“Which is why you’re bringing me into this paranoia party of yours.” 

Lucifer pointed accusingly towards Dean, like he was some kind of evidence.

“I’m not saying someone didn’t try to kill you. Twice now. You’re obviously poking around somewhere you shouldn’t be, but… please just try not to accuse every single person you know. Half of them can’t even afford a hitman who was willing to take the risk of going after you.”

“Dad could.”

Michael shook his head and stood, tucking the box beneath an arm. “I’ll find out what I can. Stay out of trouble. Please.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Lucifer stuck his tongue out at his brother.

That long suffering look of Michael’s was turned to Dean. “You have my sympathies, and if by some miracle you make it to the end of this week without killing him yourself I’ll double your pay.”

Lucifer cast a murderous look at his brother. 

Dean just laughed. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapters for this story start getting longer and longer, a return to my older stories where you get these 20+page updates XD  
> hope y'all enjoy your Thursday night, take comfort and distraction in a silly chapter where boys take a questionable potion and have many regrets

“He’s fine,” Lucifer insisted, eyes fixed forward while they waited for the crosswalk light to change.

“Yeah well, excuse me if I’m a little paranoid about my idiot kid brother getting whisked away to an undisclosed location.” Dean murmured, hands deep in his pockets. Granted, Gabriel seemed the least dangerous out of the Williams kids, and if Sam had to be stolen by one of the boys, that was the one he would have chosen. 

It still didn’t sit well with him.

“If Michael said he’d give him a place to stay, then he’s got a place to stay.” The light finally changed and the two of them moved with the other pedestrians, pressing on towards the skyscraper where Lucifer lived. “My brother’s honest to a fault. Also, the easiest way to make sure that you stay on our side is to keep your brother around.”

Dean looked up, frowning. “My brother isn’t a bargaining chip. I said I’d keep you safe and that’s what I’m doing. He’s not part of this.”

It was already starting to get dark outside, and Dean had spent the majority of the day as a fly on the wall to multiple business meetings that seemed to have more to do with stock market prices than anything that would interest Dean. He’d listened to it all, doing his best to remember anything that might pass for important. Then it was done and he wasn’t even dreading the walk up the million stairs to the penthouse because at least when they got inside he’d be able to get off his feet for a while.

“Michael sees your brother as insurance,” Lucifer explained, skirting the alley they usually used to enter his building, and going through the front doors for once. “If we keep your brother happy, it keeps you here and focused instead of worrying about that naive and talkative kid living in a hostel in Queens of all places, and somehow ...this keeps me alive. Michael is strange. But your brother is safe. I promise.”

Dean didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about a promise from a man he frankly didn’t trust. He’d have to take it though. For now at least, seeing as he didn’t have a way to track his brother back down without abandoning his post beside his cranky ward. 

They collected Lucifer’s mail from a bank of little, number boxes, and Lucifer shared a pleasant greeting with a man behind the checkout desk. Dean nodded to, polite, thinking that must be the concierge that Gabriel warned him to be nice to.

Then to Dean’s dismay, he saw that they were headed to the elevators.

He stopped walking.

The double doors opened with a shutter and Lucifer looked back, irritated to see how far away Dean still stood. “Are you coming?”

“You know, I kind of like to get in my cardio with the stairs,” Dean lied. He hated the stairs, but he hated the idea of dying in an elevator more so. 

“Bodyguard,” the man reminded needlessly, stepping into the elevator, and holding a hand against the door as he waited. “Come in here and guard my body.”

Dean licked his lips, feeling the prickle of sweat along his spine. “Don’t think that’s a great idea. Magic and electricity don’t play well.”

“I’m very calm right now, and you, well you’re just a normal magic-numb average human… right? We should be fine.”

“You really want to die in an elevator to prove a point?” Dean took a cautious step closer. He’d never even been inside one of the things, but he’d had nightmares enough. 

“I don’t like people lying to me.”

“What lie? You didn’t ask me anything about myself so I didn’t tell you anything.”

Lucifer kept his hand on the door, waiting like he could do it all day.

Steeling himself, Dean took a measured breath and stepped into the metal death trap. “This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever done.”

“No,” Lucifer took his hand off the door and it slid closed with only a tiny hiccough, “you agreeing to be my bodyguard is so, so much worse.”

The elevator moved with a groan, and Dean was positive that wasn’t a noise they were supposed to make. 

“Are you humming Metallica?” Lucifer asked, his laugh a little too loud for such a small space.

Dean swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes on the little round numbers over the door as they slowly struggled to light up.

It was quite possibly the worst minute of Dean’s life, and he did his best not to run out the doors the moment they opened. 

“I guess I was wrong,” Lucifer said with the smallest smile, and it looked so very out of place on him. He handed over his house keys. “Perhaps it wasn’t an anti-possession tattoo and you are just a very normal, and very boring human bodyguard.”

“Like your brother said, he didn’t ask Benny for specifics when he asked for a babysitter for you, you son of a bitch―and you didn’t ask either, so maybe don’t make assumptions about me, and then get angry when you’re wrong.” He made a point to shoulder check Lucifer as he moved past him, instantly regretting the use of his right shoulder because maybe the bullet wound in his shoulder was nothing more than a scar, but the deep muscle bruise was very fresh.

The apartment was just as safe and empty as when they’d left at dawn, and Dean locked up once Lucifer was inside. He leaned back on the door, relishing for a moment in the feeling of solid, unmoving ground beneath his feet. 

“That was sarcasm,” Lucifer said, taking out his groceries, “just in case you missed it because you’re still trying to unpack that near death experience we just had.”

Dean looked up.

“I didn’t ask you about you, because I don’t care,” Lucifer explained, holding up the unmarked envelope he’d got at the magic dealer’s stall, looking to over while he spoke distractedly in Dean’s direction, “but you volunteered a lie to me about that tattoo of yours, and I don’t like lying.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I don’t need to know who you are, or what you are. I absolutely don’t give a rat’s ass if you're a vanilla human, or a magic user, or a shapeshifter, or a reincarnation of Emperor Constantine of Rome.” He opened the envelope, smelling the contents and scrunching up his face. Finally he looked over at Dean and pointedly said, “I just need to know that I can trust you.”

Dean pushed off the door, coming over to the table, taking the envelope and looking inside to see four little pouches, looking like they were filled with some sort of crumpled, dried leaves. “You dropped that kind of cash on some tea?”

“Or pot,” Lucifer said with a shrug. “I find most of these ‘potions’ that are being sold are actually just E or marajuana. One time it was LSD though, and that was a bit of a bad night for me.”

“You took it?”

“How else would I know what it is?” Lucifer pulled the envelope out of Dean’s hand.

Even if Dean couldn’t think of a more direct way to test the leaves than eating them, he couldn’t help but argue over just how stupid this idea sounded. “Or, I don’t know, you could just not eat the mystery leaves?”

“That stall sells my family’s supply.” Lucifer started to explain, plucking out one of the pouches, followed by a slim slip of paper, no bigger than a fortune cookie fortune. “Somehow, our good legitimate merchandise is getting cut with street drugs passed off as  _ magic _ . I’ve got a friend in the county morgue. It’s… messy business.”

Dean took the tiny bit of paper that was being shoved into his hand, looking at the looping cursive writing. “Um, what’s this exactly?”

“Directions I think. I don’t read French.”

“I don’t either,” Dean turned the paper over, seeing nothing any more readable on the back. 

“You are going to tell me that you lived with a French vampire for five years and learned  _ nothing _ ?”

Biting his lip, Dean looked over the paper. Anything he’d picked up from his time with Benny was just dirty words and slang that had been out of date for at least two hundred years. It hardly made him qualified to translate a set of directions. “ _ Hot water _ ,” he said finally, “ _ for two? _ I don’t know, Luci. This really isn’t my thing.”

“It’s probably meant to be mixed as a tea then,” Lucifer mumbled to himself, leaving the table and digging into the cupboards.

“ _ Vérité _ ,” he read and then repeated a half a dozen times, sure that he’d heard it before. “ _ Truth _ maybe?”

“A truth potion?” Lucifer looked up, a sharp breath of laughter through his nose. “What a weird party favor.”

“Sounds like a bad party to me,” Dean looked over and scowled. “What are you doing?”

“Making truth tea I guess.”

Dean put down the slip of paper. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Drink it,” Lucifer pulled down a chipped mug with big block letters that said ‘ _ world’s lamest brother’ _ .

Even though they’d just had this little conversation, Dean still asked, “Why?” 

“Because it’s probably just some dry peppermint and rosemary, which means that that dealer is selling cooking spices under our family name and cashing in on it, which is bad for us.”

“Or it’s LSD,” Dean pointed out.

“Or a truth potion.” Lucifer spilled the little leaves into his mug along with some hot water and looked at the mixture thoughtfully. 

“Or something that could land you in a morgue apparently,” Dean pointed out. “Or are we pretending that you didn’t say that part?”

“It’s probably just pot though, and I’ll be slightly high at best,” he waved off Dean’s concern and raised the mug to his lips.

Dean covered the distance between them faster than he thought he could, grabbing the other man’s wrists and stopping him before he could do something suicidally stupid. 

“I believe I was pretty clear about you not touching me,” Lucifer said very softly.

“Yeah, and I think we were pretty clear that you needed to trust me.” Dean frowned up at him, not loosening his grip. “I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, and that’s going to mean not letting you play russian roulette with the mystery drugs.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes. “I do this a couple times a week.”

Dean longed for the simple days of working security for Benny. 

He pulled the mug from Lucifer’s hands and drained it all in one swallow before the other man could take it back. 

He coughed roughly and held the empty mug out in the other man’s general direction. 

“What does it taste like?” Lucifer surprisingly didn’t look mad, just oddly curious.

“Not like mint and rosemary,” Dean said with some certainty.

Lucifer watching him for a full minute before asking, “What’s something you’d normally lie about?”

“Dude. No. Let’s not do this.”

Lucifer set down the mug and rifled through the clutter on his table, pulling out a spiral notebook and a short, chewed up pencil. “How am I supposed to know if it’s a truth serum if we don’t test it?”

The apartment felt too small, and Dean’s insides felt too hot, but he really, really hoped that it was just nerves. Holding himself carefully, he walked to the couch and sank down. 

“Are you dying?” Lucifer asked, looking up from whatever he was writing. 

“No. I’m sitting,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Ask me something,” he said with a rattling sigh, hoping that this wouldn’t go terribly.

“What’s your last name?”

“Smith,” Dean said and grinned at how easy it was.

Lucifer came around the couch and sat uncomfortably close to Dean, notebook resting on his knees. The top of the page had the date and Dean’s name along with the word  _ ‘truth’  _ and a string of numbers. The pencil scratched quickly over the page and the words: ‘ _ 1min, lying’  _ were added.

“Gimme another one, Luci. Something harder.”

The pencil went into Lucifer’s mouth, his incisor adding a couple more little divots to the wood. “Have you ever been shot?”

“Course not. Guns are dangerous.” He let his head loll back against the couch, smiling over at the other man, watching another small note get added to the page. “You do this every time you dose yourself? Take notes like this, you big nerd?”

Lucifer glanced up. “Of course. They aren’t always great notes when I look at them the next day, because sometimes what I’ve taken is a bit…” he held up a hand and wobbled it side to side unsteadily, “but that says something about the potion too.”

“Are you just the quality assurance guy for your family’s business? Because that seems risky as hell, man.”

“It’s a self appointed job. I noticed about a year ago that something strange was going on with our supply so I started looking into it. When was the last time you prayed?”

The sudden question caught Dean off guard and he closed one eye. He was supposed to lie, so he went for it, “Every night. Never skip out on my prayers.”

Lucifer’s pencil hesitated. 

“That was also a lie,” Dean chuckled. “This truth potion sucks.”

“Or it means it’s not a truth potion.”

Dean’s relief was short-lived. “So what the hell did I take?”

“Probably just street drugs.” 

“I literally feel  _ nothing _ . These are shitty drugs.”

Lucifer set his notes onto the coffee table and turned sideways on the couch to look at Dean critically. “Come here,” he said, holding his hands out like he wanted to gently hold Dean’s face. 

“Are we moving on to the strangling part?” He asked, staying exactly where he was and looking dubiously at the other man’s hands.

“No. I want to check your pupils,” Lucifer sighed in irritation, sliding his fingers over either of Dean’s cheeks and pulling him in. His palms were cool to the touch, his hands surprisingly soft and smelling like bread and honey. He leaned so close that their noses almost touched, studying Dean’s eyes from far too close. “Slightly dilated. You’re sure you don’t feel anything?”

“I feel like my personal space is a bit lacking.” Dean swallowed, calm and quiet as he noticed the little silver flecks in the other man’s eyes, like streaks of lightning in his storm colored eyes.

“Maybe it is a legit potion then,” one corner of Lucifer’s mouth quirked up. “Maybe it’s just not meant for your type of physiology.”

“I don’t have any physiology, man.”

“Your  _ species _ ,” Lucifer clarified with an eye roll, letting Dean go and picking back up his notebook.

“I’m just a regular vanilla human, Luci.”

“Your brother’s got magic in his blood,” he jotted down a few lines, not looking up, “which means it runs in your family. So… not  _ human _ . It’s a recessive gene. Even if you didn’t inherit any viable magic yourself, technically you don’t qualify as a human. Not with the new laws they passed a few years ago.” 

Dean hated those laws. Hated that if his blood ever got tested in a lab it would clearly show that something inhuman had mixed in with his family line generations ago. So, Dean could play at being human until he was blue in the face, but legally speaking he would be listed as ‘other’.

“I will put your vanilla-ness down as another one for the  _ ‘lie’  _ column,” Lucifer made one more scribble before standing.

Dean pressed a hand over his eyes, his insides still warm, but otherwise he felt fine. Or as fine as he could be stuck in this too small apartment with Lucifer needling at him. 

For his own piece of mind, Dean tried to steer their conversation away from the dubious concoction brewing in his gut. If he wasn’t going to die from the tea, then there were more important things for them to discuss. “You have any way to, like, find out where they took my brother?” 

“I’ll look into it,” Lucifer called from the kitchen, almost immediately followed by the sound of wet coughing.

Dean’s eyes flew open and he sat up, turning to see the other man holding his mug out at arm’s length while he struggled to clear his throat. 

“Definitely not kitchen herbs.” The blond shook his head.

“I took it so you didn’t have to,” Dean reminded, thinking that not giving in and killing Lucifer himself might actually turn out to be a challenge. 

“Yes, but it didn’t work on you,” he came back around to the couch, flipped the page in his notebook and began writing. “Ask me something I would usually lie about.”

This was a terrible game and Dean didn’t like being the akser any more than he’d liked being the askee. 

He let his head fall back, rapidly making a list of things that he’d really like the answer to, and then promptly crossed most of them off as too suspicious. “What’s your last name?” He asked, deciding it was best to stay in neutral territory.

“Winchester,” Lucifer said with a hint of a laugh, “like the rifle.”

Dean couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing, the heel of his shoe making fast but soft taps on the floor. So much for hoping that the other man might have forgotten that one. 

“Have  _ you _ ever been shot?” Dean asked, watching from the corner of his eye as Lucifer placed one hand to his side. 

“Never,” he sighed as that earlier disappointment edged its way back into his tone. “I really wanted this to work. Maybe the potion just takes a long time to kick in.”

“Or again, it’s just a shitty potion.” Dean chewed on his lower lip, studying the other man's profile and carefully asked, “ _ Or _ it doesn’t work on boring, basic bitch, vanilla, not-quite-legal humans… so, uh, if that’s what you think, why’d you go and take it too? Seems like a waste.”

Lucifer smiled, a real, honest to god smile for the first time that Dean had ever seen, and it put unexpected butterflies in his stomach.

“I took it,” Lucifer leaned sideways, still looking at his notes but brushing their shoulders together with the lightest touch, “because unlike  _ you _ , I’m not a basic bitch.”

Dean hid a grin behind a cough, then clearing his throat, he asked, “You going to mark that one down as a lie too?”

Lucifer hummed softly under his breath, a soft  _ ‘oh don’t you dare’ _ sort of sound to it, before turning the page back to the one labeled with Dean’s name. “Tell me more lies, Dean  _ Smith _ . Just to see if you can.”

“I’m an only child, and a vegetarian, and believe in Scientology,” he let out whatever lies came to mind first, and then pointed out, “and I’m still saying that this is just a shitty potion and it’s not going to do anything at all.”

“Still not feeling anything?”

Dean shook his head, “I mean, I can still taste that junk on the back of my tongue, but otherwise I feel fine.” A little more than fine, relaxed for the first time since coming here, but not in a way that felt medicated. It was just a relief to not be scowled at for a change. “You the same?”

“Painfully the same. Which means that I spent a couple hundred bucks this morning on some weird tasting tea.” He sank bonelessly into the overstuffed couch, head rolling back to stare up at the ceiling. “ _ Fantastic _ .”

Someone started knocking at the door, and Dean instantly recognised Gabriel’s irritating, rapid fire tapping. 

Looking through the peephole though, Dean didn’t see just Gabe. Looming behind the little blond was a slightly uncomfortable looking Sam, arms folded behind his back as he rocked on his heels just like he used to do when he was a kid. 

Dean threw open the door, sidestepping Gabriel to wrap his arms around Sam’s shoulders, “Never gonna get used to you being this tall, Sammy” He said with an affectionate sigh, loving the feeling of his brother hugging him back just as tightly. 

There had always been a worry in the back of Dean’s mind that Sam might not be able to forgive him for leaving like he did, all those years ago. But there wasn’t any room left for those kinds of doubts. Not with how hard Sam was still hugging him, like he was afraid to let go again.

“You ok?” Dean asked, pulling back far enough to look at the big, awkward kid. “They didn’t do anything I need to beat them up for?”

“I can handle my own fights, Dean,” Sam grinned, “I’ve been able to for a long time now.”

He could only shake his head and tug Sam into the apartment.

Gabriel had stolen Dean’s place on the couch, excitedly trying to talk Lucifer into something, obvious insistence in his hushed whisper. 

Dean only caught, “ _ If you come, he’ll have to too _ ,’ and  _ ‘he’s a solid thirteen out of ten _ ,’ followed with a dragged out,  _ ‘pleeeease’ _ .

As Dean locked up the door, he took notice of the fact that since the two kids had been gone, Sam’s knit scarf seemed to have migrated to Gabriel’s neck, and Sam was pointedly not looking at the shorter teen, but instead focusing on the toes of his shoes.

He elbowed his little brother and nodded towards Gabriel as soon as he managed to catch Sam’s eye. 

It was impossible to tell if Sam didn’t understand the pointed look, or was openly ignoring it, as he smiled awkwardly at Dean and said, “They set me up with an apartment down on the second floor. I think it’s bigger than the whole house we grew up in.”

“Downstairs  _ here _ ?” Dean’s sudden hopefulness went through the roof and he struggled to reel it in. 

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged, still grinning, “apparently it’s one of the places Gabe stays, but he says he doesn’t use it anymore, so I could have it, and that way I’m closer to you.”

A very tiny part of Dean was suspicious of Gabriel offering up his ‘hardly used’ apartment to Sam, in light of the way that Sam kept glancing up from under his eyelashes to peer at the other boy. But a much bigger and louder part of Dean was just over the moon at the prospect of having his brother so close. 

“I mean,” Dean laughed a little too loud and had to forcibly tone down his excitement, “that’s amazing. Not that this place is exactly  _ safe, _ and I kind of can’t leave Luci alone, but yeah. That’s… it’s, yeah. Any time I can spare. It’s yours. We got a lot of catching up to do, Sammy.”

“Catching up that you guys can totally do during dinner tonight,” Gabriel called from the couch. 

Dean glanced back at the other men. 

Gabriel had a two handed grip on his big brother’s arm, and the biggest grin. “Lu and me were going out, which means you’ve got to come too, Dean-o, and I don’t mind if Sam taggs along.”

_ I bet you wouldn’t mind _ , Dean thought as he watched Gabe and Sam exchange a less than subtle glance. 

He had more than enough problems of his own without the idea that there might be a small spark between the two boys who’d only met a couple hours ago. 

It wasn’t like Dean had any idea how to chaperone a date between his estranged baby brother and a bouncy mafia prince who’d been wearing a dead man’s blood splattered over his face and hands the night that Dean had met him.

But at least if the four of them were all together, Dean could keep an eye on them. 

They ended up at a restaurant a block down from The BlackRabbit, some place that had the very distinct feel of another business owned by the Willimas family. The dinner conversation ended up being very one sided, mostly just Gabriel asking Sam questions and then smiling deamily up at Sam while he spoke. 

Dean didn’t mind too much, seeing as he could have spent hours just listening to all the ways that Sam had been safe and happy and good over the last six years. 

He did mind a little more when the shortest member of their group dragged them all down to The BlackRabbit because he ‘ _ knows the guy who owns it, and I can get us free drinks’ _ . Gabriel was related to the guy who owned the club, the club full of non-humans and actual monsters, and both the teenagers were still years away from the legal drinking age. 

Telling Sam no, however, wasn’t in Dean’s play book, and he very shortly found himself sitting beside Lucifer at a table in the back corner of the club while they watched their brothers dancing not too far away.

“I hate to admit it, but they’re kind of cute together,” Lucifer said just barely loud enough to hear over the music. 

“First off, never say the word cute again, it doesn’t work for you.” Dean didn’t take his eyes off the two teenages who were laughing and grinning and grinding up on one another only a few yards away. “Second, they look ridiculous together. Gabe’s way too short.”

“Hormones don’t come with height restrictions.”

Dean risked a glance over at the other man, instantly feeling his heart drop, because Lucifer was still smiling like he had been back at the apartment, and it was distracting as hell. 

It had been all through dinner too.

“Look, I get the big brother happy to see his little brother happy thing going on here,” Dean gestured to himself and then to Lucifer, like they were in this mess together, “but this is a bad match.”

“Gabriel has good instincts. If he feels safe around your brother then I feel alright trusting him.”

“Trusting  _ Sam _ ?” Dean laughed. “Sam aint the problem. He’s not the one who’s assisted in at least one murder this past week.”

“You don’t know that,” Lucifer said pointedly, raising one hand to get a waitress’ attention. He held up two fingers, nodded, then looked back to Dean. “You know exactly as much about the person your brother is right now as I do… but I suppose I can agree that the height difference is a bit much. Gabriel’s’ going to need to stand on a chair to kiss him.”

Dean wanted to point out that there didn’t need to be any kissing at all, but a beer bottle was being placed in front of him by the same gold eyed waitress he’d seen his first night here. He nodded his thanks, and then found himself scanning the crowd because he’d lost track of the kids. 

He spotted Sam’s mop of hair over by the bar, and could only assume that Gabriel was nearby but below his line of sight. Sighing, Dean turned back to Lucifer, and found himself stifling a laugh. 

“You alright there, Luci?”

Lucifer was using two fingers to try and pinch and twist off the cap of his beer, a look of frustration replacing all the earlier smiles. “I’ll get it,” he said like a threat. 

“It’s not a twist top.” Dean reached over and stole the bottle, then simply used the edge of the table to remove the offending bottle cap in one easy motion. 

“How very… blue collar of you,” Lucifer said with a slight laugh, taking back his drink.

“You say it like an insult, but god what I wouldn’t do to get out of this monkey suit.” Dean chuckled, opening his own drink.

“You can take it off when we get home.”

“Oh, really? You’ll let me?” Dean teased, not sure what else to do with the other man giving him permission for something so stupid and basic. “Gee, thanks boss,” he murmured into his bottle, reaching up with his other hand to loosen his tie. 

Not missing a beat, Lucifer reached over and set the tie back snuggly against Dean’s throat. “I didn’t ask for you to be my bodyguard, and I don’t need you, but I’ll be damned if I’m seen in public with you half dressed.”

“A loose tie is ‘half dressed’?” Dean laughed, leaning back in his chair and deliberately slouching as much as he could in hopes of irritating Lucifer more, “Must be real hard to sit comfortably all buttoned up all the time.”

“I have an image to uphold,” he smoothed a hand over his own black silk tie that caught the neon lights just enough to contrast against the deeper black of his button down shirt.

“This a family thing, or a  _ you _ thing, because Gabriel sure doesn’t look like he got the memo.” Dean hooked a thumb back in the direction of their brothers, who had resumed their dancing, clinging to each other and obviously just having a fantastic night. 

“Gabe’s still young. He can get away with having a little fun now and then.”

“So, no dancing for you then, is what you’re saying?” Dean tried to hide his grin behind the lip of his beer. 

“I might if the right person asked,” Lucifer looked away from the kids, his eyes darting over Dean’s face before quickly looking back at the crowd. “But not the way they’re dancing. At least not in public.”

“Ah, so those buttons do loosen up once in a while.”

“If the right person asks,” Lucifer repeated with a chuckle that went straight through Dean, making heat pool in his belly. 

It wasn’t fair that such an asshole could have a laugh like that.

Dean rolled the rim of his bottle along his lower lip, thinking back to the previous night and how Lucifer’s eyes had been fixed on him while he ate out the insides of his cupcake. Just like the night before, Dean caught the other man’s gaze following him again, watching the way that his tongue darted out to kiss the lip of the bottle before he took another drink.

Lucifer had to look away―and Dean grinned.

It was a damn shame that Lucifer was just a mean son of a bitch looking for a new way to try and ruffle Dean’s feathers. 

But the joke was on him, because Dean wasn’t the kind of guy to get freaked out by some hollow flirting. 

If the son of a bitch wanted to make it a little awkward, Dean was more than willing to meet him halfway. If nothing else it was probably a lot safer than the open threats they’d been throwing around since the night they met.

Defiantly, he tugged his tie back down, only an inch or two, just so he couldn’t feel the knot against his throat, Lucifer wasn’t watching him right then anyway. Let it be a fun surprise once the man turned back to him.

“So, what do you do when you’re not getting shot at or taking questionable drugs from strangers?”

“I…” Lucifer trailed off, wrinkling his nose as he took a moment to straighten the cuffs of his jacket that didn’t need any straightening. “I do the best I can.”

“Come on, Luci. I don’t give a shit about your family business so don’t go getting all dodgy about it.” He elbowed the other man, and then again, and again until he finally drew out an irritated sound. “Benny keeps horses. Guy I worked for before him played five different instruments. You’ve gotta have some hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” Lucifer let out a short breath of laughter, turning back to Dean, “I guess I like books...” he trailed off again, his eyes settling on the crooked tie. 

Dean grinned, watching the little line of irritation deepen between the other man’s eyes.“You  _ guess _ ? Not really giving me a lot to work with here. Do you collect first editions? You go through a trashy romance novel a day? You hooked on Shakspearian sonnets? What?”

“I question the sanity of anyone who enjoys reading iambic pentameter.” Lucifer leaned close, their knees knocking under the table as he once more straightened Dean’s tie, a bit more forcefully than before. “I like Bradbery and Vonnegut. Have since I was a kid. I take my eyes off you for ten seconds and you instantly turn into a mess. How?”

“It’s just a tie, man.” Dean slapped the man’s hands away, fixing his tie back to where he wanted it and then pointedly popped the top button. “I’m watching the room. Keeping you safe. Let me breathe while I do it.” 

Dean could actually breathe just fine, but he’d discovered something perfectly harmless that apparently drove Lucifer up a wall―and he couldn’t think of a better way to kill time until their brothers were ready to call it a night.

The amount of bodies in the club seemed to have doubled since they’d come in, making it increasingly harder to pick Sammy out of the crowd. Dean would see flashes though, dimples and hair in desperate need of a trim. 

From a few tables away, he caught his brother’s eye. Sam flashing a grin before going back to his hand holding and close talking with the smallest Williams brother.

Long gone was the scrawny little boy that followed Dean around like a puppy, who’d been afraid of spiders, and couldn’t fall asleep until Dean checked the closet for monsters. Sam was now just shy of seventeen, as tall as a tree, and apparently very into shorter guys who laughed too much. 

Sam had grown up while Dean was gone, and it was going to take some adjustment to figure out how they fit together now. 

Wherever that train of thought was bound, it became derailed as long, sure fingers curled around Dean’s neck. His spine went rigid, every nerve ending instantly lighting up like a switchboard as adrenalin sang through his body. 

“What kind of bodyguard spaces out and forgets that he’s supposed to be working?” Lucifer asked from behind Dean’s shoulder, his pinky and ring finger tracing small lines on either side of Dean’s collarbone. 

“Was I not paying enough attention to you, Luci?” Dean tipped his chin up, craning his neck to try and find a little wiggle room. “We goin’ right back to the whole strangling plan? Really?”

Lucifer made a noncommittal sound, leaning some of his weight against Dean’s shoulder and tightening his grip experimentally. 

“Don’t wanna tell you how to do your job here, but,” he reached up and took hold of Lucifer’s wrist, twisting in his seat so he could actually see the other man, “your grip is all wrong.” He met the other man’s eyes, and grinned like the charming son of a bitch that he knew he was. 

“Wrong?” Lucifer snorted a soft, surprised laugh. 

“Oh yeah,” Dean felt some of that tension chip away. As long as they were both smiling he wasn’t in any real danger. This was all just another part of what they’d been doing to each other all night. He reached for Lucifer’s other hand, drawing it up and pressing it to his throat too. “Both hands. You’d have to have some super human strength to do it with just one. You gotta get your thumbs here, either side of the trachea.  _ Ogph _ ―” Dean struggled for a moment, small helpless sounds trapped in his chest until Lucifer relaxed his hold again. “Yeah. There you go, big guy. You’re getting it.” 

“You’re such an insufferable ass,” Lucifer rolled his eyes, the rough edges of his chewed fingernails dimpling the sensitive skin along the back of Dean’s neck. “Strangling isn’t going to be good enough for you anymore.”

“No?” Those butterflies had returned to Dean’s stomach, and it probably said an awful lot of how touch starved he was that he was actually enjoying all their violent joking and half threats. “What’ll it be, Luci? Bullet to the back of the head? Cement shoes? Brazillian necktie?”

“Too impersonal,” he said with a shallow shake of the head, leaning in by inches to say with a smile, “I want to look you in the eye while I tear you apart.”

“Sounds kinky. I’m listening.”

The hands around his throat tightened, a press of thumbs against his airway, just enough that for a moment Dean couldn’t even gasp. The pressure let up just as quickly though, only a reminder of who actually had the upper hand here. 

Dean was pulled by his neck until he almost completely slid off his chair. His and Lucifer’s bodies were nearly flush, and he found himself poised on the edge of his ass, feet digging into the floor to try keep his balance, as he struggled to find enough room under the other man’s fingers to even swallow. 

“I will open you slowly,” Lucifer whispered against Dean’s ear, their cheeks pressed together so that he could be heard over the noise of the club.“So very slowly.”

Dean’s throat made a weak clicking sound as Lucifer’s thumbs traced slow and deliberate lines along the frantic pounding of his artery. 

“Each whimper and scream from that mouth of yours... just for me,” his lips brushed Dean’s ear, “so, very,  _ very  _ slowly, Dean. I will make you beg, until I am so deep inside of you that you can taste me on your tongue, until your eyes roll back and I feel your life spilling hot and wet over my skin.”

Dean didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes, or why such a graphic string of threats made his heart stutter in anticipation as he felt his blood go rushing south. 

It took three tries for him to find his voice, and even then it had a fine tremor to the words that he didn’t have any hope of hiding. “Do they do phone sex for murderers? Because you could definitely make that work for you.”

Lucifer threw his hands up in disgust, sitting back in his chair and audibly clicking his teeth together in a snarl.

“I mean it, man. You’ve got a real gift.”,” he taunted, letting out a shaking breath.

“What I’ve got is a jackass for a bodyguard.”

“A jackass who took a bullet for you.” Dean reminded, sliding backward into his chair until he felt the wooden slats gently offering to help hold him upright. It was a good thing that they were sitting. Aside from the obvious awkwardness of him being achingly hard, Dean was fairly certain that his knees wouldn’t have been able to support him until he managed to calm down a bit.

“See, but you say it like that and it just makes me want to shoot you myself.” Lucifer pushed his half empty beer towards Dean, saying, “I need a real drink,” and signaling for the waitress to come back. 

A real drink seemed to be one glass of gin, and one glass of whiskey. 

Dean didn’t want to ask how the girl just seemed to know what both men needed, but he took the small tumbler of liquid gold and nodded to the woman in thanks.

Lucifer was already nursing his gin, small sips to wet his lips and then slow, moody breaths. He seemed to notice Dean watching him, and he looked up with lidded eyes over the rim of his glass. “I’ll figure out what scares you eventually.”

“I can be a hard nut to crack,” Dean said in his best sympathetic voice, “but you’ll get it right eventually, Luci. I believe in you.”

Lucifer fixed Dean with one of his best icy glares that thawed too quickly with an unexpected smile that he tried to hide behind his drink.

Dean saw it though. He saw that smile and felt himself answering it with one of his own.

He was almost disappointed that that’s when Sam and Gabriel decided to return. 

**________________________**

Sleep didn’t come easy.

Dean had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, not able to find a comfortable place on the sofa where he’d spent the last couple nights. 

It wasn’t about the fact that when he’d said good night to Sammy, the kid had been holding hands with Garbiel, the two of them lingering in the door of Sam’s downstairs apartment. 

It wasn’t about the pressure behind his eyes and the pounding in this head from his three shots of whiskey and too many hours sitting in a club with pulsingly loud music.

Those would be good, normal, easy problems that would pass in their own time. 

The memory of Lucifer’s lips brushing against Dean’s ear wasn’t as likely to sort itself out and leave him be any time soon. Being choked was absolutely not one of Dean’s kinks. Sure, a little roughness was more than welcome if the timing and the company were right, but the memory of Luci’s hand around his throat had no business making Dean as hard as it did. 

He shifted again. Rolling onto one side and hooking an arm around his pillow. 

What was wrong with him?

Lucifer might not have the same sort of long and colorful police record as other members of his family, but it didn’t make him any less of a monster. 

The man was actively frightening. 

And apparently, if the circumstances were right, he’d open Dean up. Slowly. So very slowly. Dean bit his lip, curling his fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, imagining the other man’s long, sure fingers sliding over his body. Those hands. God, those hands.

Something was wrong with Dean’s brain. 

Lucifer wasn’t even his type. 

For fuck’s sake, why couldn’t Dean stop thinking about the other man’s smile. 

A sudden thought flashed through his mind. 

The potion. 

He’d drunk that stupid potion, not even knowing what it did.

It was some kind of date rape, extasy, make-Dean’s-brain-get-stuck-on-the-way-Lucifer-chewed on-his-lower-lip kind of drug―because god damn it, Dean wanted to to bite that lip too. He wanted to pull Lucifer apart, to look in those silver flecked eyes while Lucifer moaned his name. 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake that image out of his muddy brain. 

Potion or drug, it was obviously potent and dangerous. 

Maybe he should get the remaining doses to Bobby. The old man could pass it along to the lab, find out what was in it, figure out if there would be any questionable side effects, and how long it would take to wear off... how long it would take until Dean stopped imagining those strong hands around his hips.

In the quiet of the apartment, a fair noise pricked Dean’s ears, soft, staccato breaths sounding almost like panic coming from the direction of the bed. 

No.

Not panic.

That soft, breathy moan from the other side of the room could only be one thing.

Lucifer had taken the same potion as Dean, and apparently it worked just as well on whatever the hell the other man was, as it worked on a boring vanilla human like Dean. 

They were in this boat together apparently.

And the first thought that followed that realisation, was that Dean should go offer Lucifer a hand.

No. No. No.

That wasn’t right. 

Dean pulled his pillow over his head, furious at Lucifer’s apparent lack of self control.

No self control, and apparently no shame. 

God damn it. Dean was still in the room, fire in his belly, demanding that his dick behave itself and remember that Lucifer was a big old _nope_. Dean wasn’t going there. Dean wasn’t going to get off the couch, crawl into bed, and lend that horrifying man a helping hand.

Dean had rules. 

Not many, and the handful that he’d started this undercover assignment with had dwindled over the years. He’d do whatever he needed to get the job done. But, boning down on someone that he was actively working to put in jail? That would absolutely be strictly for fun, not for business, and Dean had to draw a line somewhere. 

He couldn’t see a way to get into that bed and then get back out again in the morning without some lasting complications. 

So many big and bad complications.

One of those soft, stifled moans tapered off into something that sounded like Dean’s name―or maybe it was nothing more than a panting string of profanities, and the blood pounding in Dean’s ears just made it hard for him to hear clearly. 

Oh, that potion could wear off any time now.

Christ, but that sounded like a whimper, and Dean didn’t know if it was from the other side of the room or from his own throat.

His face burning, Dean rolled off the couch. He moved quickly, before he could have a chance to talk himself out of it. Shoes, keys, cigarette case, and the unmarked envelope from the table. 

In the rush to get outside and somewhere safe, Dean had forgotten his jacket. He blew smoke out the corner of his mouth, hugging himself while he walked aimlessly away from the highrise. Mercifully it didn’t take too long for Bobby to catch up with him, sleepily grumbling their usual exchange of bumming a smoke off Dean. 

“What’d you fuck up this time, kid?” The old man asked, passing back Dean’s lighter.

He passed over the envelope and pushed his hands back down in his pockets. He could still clearly picture Lucifer’s unexpected little smiles, and it still made his stomach do little flips. “Hoping you could rush this through a lab, see if it’s anything dangerous.” 

Bobby opened the envelope, lifting it to his nose and taking a sharp sniff. He made a face, and fished out the little slip of paper and held it up to read it under the street light. “You haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “No. I don’t watch the news. The TVs don’t like when I try.”

The old man snorted softly, handing back the envelope. “You got your hands on some v _érité du coeur._ ”

“In english?”

“You gotta start reading the news paper or somethin’, kid. The stuff’s been all over the news. Lady down in LA dosed herself and her husband and then killed him. It’s been added to the illegal list faster than any other magics I’ve seen.”

Dean looked at the envelope, and made a face. “What is it?”

“ _ Truth of the heart _ ,” the gruff FBI agent said, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement and snuffing it out with his boot. “Two people take it together and whatever feelings they’ve got go through the roof.”

“So… magical roofies?” Dean asked dubiously.

“You listening, son? No. Both parties have to take it willingly, and then it only works with whatever feeling you’ve already got goin’ for each other. I think it started as a custom brew a company put out for Valentine's day last year or somethin’. The ads were ‘ _ enhance the magic between you and the love of your life’ _ or some garbage like that, but it goes pretty bad for couples who like to fight.”

Dean looked fixedly ahead of them, his cigarette dangling from between very dry lips. “But, uh, what if some stupid son of a bitch didn’t know what it was, and he took it with someone he didn’t really know? The potion would just make up some feelings, right?”

Bobby looked at him sideways, knowingly.

“I mean, if it’s got nothing to work with on its own…” Dean was grasping at straws. “It’ll just fill in the place where that attraction would be, but isn’t because they don’t feel anything for each other.”

The old man shook his head. “You’re good at what you do, but you’re a real idjit about everything else.”

Dean liked it better when he’d thought he’d taken roofies. 

That potion didn’t have shit to work with between him and Lucifer. Dean didn’t like the guy, and he certainly didn’t have a hard on for him. He didn’t feel a single thing for Lucifer other than suspicion.

Neither of them felt a goddamned thing until they’d both taken that stupid potion.

Bobby was obviously wrong.

What did the old man know anyway?

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice big new chapter to get this weekend started off right <3  
> Thank you guys for your comments and kudos, they help keep the seasonal depression at bay, and a giant thank you to those who dump a couple bucks into the Kofi account. I'll be back teaching in a real class room next week, instead of just on line, and I'm really needing those morning teas now more than ever to keep up the level of energy needed for all my kiddos :D

Over the years Dean had experienced his fair share of awkward silences, but he’d rate the car ride with Lucifer and Michael easily in the top three. Lucifer hadn’t said a word to him all morning, which was nice considering Dean had no idea what to say to the other man.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say to someone when every time they made eye contact the only thing that went through Dean’s mind was the sound of those soft moans? 

Oddly, this was not a situation that they’d covered in his FBI training. 

He just needed to wait for the potion to wear off, which it could do any time now. Any time at all.

Bobby had said that a normal dose would run its course after about twelve hours with no lasting effects. Which should have meant a mercifully clear head by sometime around five or six in the morning. However, it had to be nearly noon, and Lucifer was chewing on his thumbnail in a way that made it hard for Dean to think about anything other than what it might feel like to have that mouth on his own.

“So, uh, what takes us out of the city?” Dean asked Michael who was sitting quietly in the rear-facing seat across from him.

Michael’s dark eyes flicked up from the newspaper spread over his lap, darting between the two other men. “Lucifer didn’t tell you?”

Dean pointedly didn’t look at the man quietly brooding beside him, the man who hadn’t said a single damn word all day.

Michael’s foot darted out in the small space between him and his brother, lightly kicking Lucifer in the shins. “I’m not an expert on these things, but it might be helpful for your bodyguard to know what sorts of places you’re taking him so that he can be properly prepared.”

Lucifer dropped his hand from his mouth, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, and the words out of his mouth were jarringly not English. They were Hebrew.

Obviously the words spoken between brothers were not meant for Dean’s ears, but the joke was on Lucifer, because after years of very difficult study, Dean spoke pretty passable Hebrew. 

_ “I can’t talk to him anymore _ ,” Lucifer said, very soft, but very insistent. 

Michael carefully folded his newspaper and fixed his brother with an increasingly irritated expression.  _ “What happened now?” _

_ “I bought a spell yesterday, one of ours, _ ” Lucifer hung his head as he spoke, like he couldn’t bear to look his brother in the eye, “ _ I didn’t know it was actually some kind of date-rape drug. I spent all last night trying to keep myself from throwing him down and screwing him senseless.” _

Dean looked really hard out the window, feeling heat rising up his throat, and hoping that the other two men were too distracted to notice. 

The edges of Michael’s mouth quirked for just a moment before he went back to his usual disinterested expression. “ _ Do you feel better now? _ ”

Lucifer nodded, still looking down at his feet.

_ “Then it’s fine. _ ”

“ _ He took it too.”  _ One of Lucifer’s hands flicked in Dean’s direction, and Dean did his best to look out the window at the scenery scrolling by.

Michael sat back, smoothing his hands along the fold of his newspaper. “Dean, have the effects of the drugs you two took fully worn off?”

It was very direct, and if Dean hadn’t understood all of what the brothers had been talking about it would have also been very startaling. He did his best to look surprised, blinking at the dark haired man, and reaching up to awkwardly tug at the edge of his collar. “Yeah. I-I’m feeling mostly back to normal.”

“Is there any reason you can’t continue the job I hired you for?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head.

Michael waved a hand between Dean and Lucifer, pointedly lingering that heavy gaze of his on his furious looking younger brother. “There you go. All sorted out. You’re welcome.” He re-opened his newspaper and went back to ignoring them.

Lucifer didn’t look at Dean, pouring all his anger into the murderous expression he’d fixed his brother with. 

It was an expression that Dean could feel deep in his bones. Not that he shared that simmering anger with Lucifer exactly; however, acknowledging that they’d both had some odd side effects didn’t make it any less awkward. 

If anything it made it worse.

It also didn't help that Dean knew it wasn’t actually a roofie that they’d taken together. 

Apparently him and Lucifer simply had the subconscious hots for one another. 

However, since that wasn’t any kind of revelation that Dean could twist to his benefit (at least he hadn’t been able to come up with a way yet), it was best to pretend last night hadn’t happened. 

“So,” Dean cleared his throat, “no one ever really answered my question. Where are we going?”

“Home,” Michael said without looking up, and without offering any further explanation.

**____________________________________**

The brothers abandoned him in the front courtyard of a monstrously large, three story mansion that looked like it had been transplanted fresh from a horror movie set in the foggy english countryside, complete with those round topped cathedral style windows and pointy bits along the highest part of the roof. Dean knew pretty much nothing about architecture, so he didn’t have names for most of the house’s exterior, and decided to just settle with ‘big’ and ‘imposing’.

“Wait with the car,” Lucifer said over his shoulder as he and his brother mounted the curved stone steps that lead up to double doors that had to be around twelve feet tall. 

“Yeah, no,” Dean had no desire to be left behind, or to be left out of whatever it was that the brothers had come all the way out here for. “Gimme’ a bench or something to sit on inside while I’m waiting for you. It looks like it’s gonna rain.”

To his surprise, Lucifer turned and came back down the stairs, crowding into Dean’s space in a way that felt far more intimate than when they’d been back in the car. 

“There is nothing in there that you can keep me safe from,” Lucifer said in a soft tone obviously not meant to carry back to Michael who was waiting up at the top of the stairs. 

“Ok, but if you’re gonna’ say it like that it makes me feel like I  _ need _ to be in there to take care of you.”

“It’s just my family.”

“Which you don’t trust,” Dean pointed out.

Lucifer folded his arms over his stomach, reaching one hand up to tug on his lower lip. He didn’t quite meet Dean’s eye. “I don’t like you, and I don’t need you around to keep me safe… but consider this making you and me even for you getting shot in my place the other day. This is me keeping  _ you _ safe.”

Dean watched the other man and his nervous fidgeting, finding his gaze drawn down to Lucifer’s mouth. “Do you hear yourself when you’re talking?” 

A wry smile slanted the other man’s mouth at a funny angle, as he continued to tug on his lower lip. 

“This is my job,” Dean gestured to the house looming over them like a waiting beast. 

Lucifer reached between them, straightening Dean’s tie. “Stay outside. Walk around the grounds. Keep yourself busy. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

Dean itched to touch the other man. He wanted to wrap his hands around Lucifer’s wrists and pull the other man in even closer. “I don’t feel good about this.”

“Your concern is noted.” 

Lucifer smoothed the imaginary wrinkles out of Dean’s tie, the warmth from that touch bleeding through Dean’s shirt and sinking into his chest, making his heart jump up to his throat. 

“That potion’s still bothering you a bit too, eh?” he asked with a little hitch in his voice, and instantly regretted the question because Lucifer jumped like he’d been burned, his eyes meeting Dean’s for a breath before he hastily turned back to the house. 

“I’ll come find you when I’m done,” Lucifer repeated without even looking back. 

The man practically ran from Dean-- possibly just to catch up with his brother-- but there was no denying the haste with which he put space between them.

So much for going inside with everyone else. 

Dean supposed that he should simply trust Lucifer’s word that he was safe with his family. Michael certainly didn’t seem to be approaching the day with any bit of caution or worry on his brother’s behalf. The inkling of doubt wouldn’t leave, though. Dean had been there for the conversation on how Lucifer was running out of family members he felt like he could trust.

It was legitimate worry that Dean felt for the guy (which he’d be blaming on the lingering influences of potion that apparently hadn’t finished worming through his system). 

Beneath that concern, however, was the fact that Dean had gotten involved with this family for a purpose. A purpose that slipped out of his grasp for the time being as the big doors closed behind the Williams brother and Dean was left alone in the crisp, foggy morning. 

Dean had no idea how long this would all take, and he’d make himself crazy if he stayed waiting on the stairs for Luci to come back, There was nothing for him to do other than take a walk and stretch his legs after such a long ride in the car. 

The grounds around the mansion were well kept, everything well trimmed and mostly still dormant from the long cold winter. He passed a few low hedges, and a very clean and very tempting swimming pool that was lightly steaming in the cold air. 

Dean grinned and shook his head as he passed on by, letting his feet carry him towards a distant pasture where he could see the unmistaken shapes of horses grazing. The luxury of the garden and the outdoor heated pool were a bit much for Dean, but his family had kept horses, same for Benny, and the familiar sights and smells called to him like a siren’s song.

Mud clung to his dress shoes, afterall, when he’d left the apartment that morning he hadn’t been planning a nature walk. He didn’t care though. Passing the stables, he made for the edge of the fence and the closest grey dappled mare, holding a hand out and making soft  _ psst psst _ sounds to try and get her attention. 

The horse’s ears flicked towards Dean and big, dark, intelligent eyes regarded him for a few moments before the horse started moving towards him. 

“Hey there,” Dean cooed, no shame at all, since there was no one around to hear him talking sweetly to the animal. “Look at you. Aren’t you just the most beautiful girl? You are.” He grinned as the horse nosed his fingers, sniffing his hand before shoving her massive head in against his chest and nosing around Dean’s pockets. 

“Oof,” he let out a startled breath and pushed at the horse, “I don’t have any treats in my pockets. Sorry.”

She was possibly the friendliest horse that Dean had ever met, or at least the most hopeful, as she continued to nose around on him, lightly lipping at his hands and clothes. 

“Alright. Alright,” he laughed, stepping back from the fence, “I bet I can find you something inside.” 

Dean made his way around to the stable and found the doors already open. The insides were pretty spacious, room enough for a dozen horses, though only half the stalls looked in use. There was a space for various saddles and tack, and with very little poking around he found a bin of treats that smelled like oats and molasses. 

“Can I help you?” 

Dean turned around quickly, his handful of treats only half way into his pockets. 

A man had leaned out of one of the further stalls, He had bright eyes, and sandy hair that looked like it was going a little salt and pepper around the temples, and he wore a curious smile on his handsome face. 

“I was just, um,” Dean hadn’t expected to get caught, but also knew he probably wasn’t doing anything wrong. He held up the treats with one hand, pointing back towards the doors with the other. “I was just getting some treats.”

“If you’re hungry there’s food back at the house.”

Dean chuckled. “They’re not for me.”

“You sure? Because I know the cook. I can have her fix you up with something to tide you over until…” the man trailed off, looking at Dean expectantly.

“Until Luci and Mike decide that they’re ready to leave,” he grinned, easy and comfortably, walking closer so that they weren’t having to raise their voices to be heard on opposite ends of the stable. 

The guy repeated the brothers’ names with a soft chuckle of amusement, and then said, “I didn’t know that the boys were coming home today.”

“I didn’t either,” Dean shrugged and came to a halting stop as he was close enough to see that the stablehand had been brushing down a beast of a horse. Dean was barely tall enough to see over the animal’s heavily muscled shoulders. It wasn’t anything graceful like the dappled lady Dean had met in the pasture. This was some breed of stock horse, made for hauling sleds, or houses, or something equally massive. The horse’s enormous square head tipped in Dean’s direction, looking at him curiously, before returning to whatever snacks it had been enjoying. 

“His name’s Apollo,” he made the introduction between Dean and the animal with an easy breath of laughter, clearly reading Dean’s stunned expression. “He’s a show horse.”

“I guess he’d have to be,” Dean shook his head, edging close enough that he could reach out and touch the horse if he’d been dumb enough. “Can’t think of any other reason to keep a work-horse at a home like this. He’s gorgeous.”

“I think so too,” the man smoothed a hand down the horse’s neck and looked back at Dean. “You know much about horses?”

“A little,” Dean started to reach out towards the animal’s silky mane, “we had an Appaloosa when I was a kid. He was a big, beautiful son of a bitch that wouldn’t let anyone but me and my brother ride him.”

The man grinned, and it drew Dean’s attention away from the horse. Handsome guys tended to have that effect on Dean. 

It was a really nice smile, friendly and open, and it took years off Dean’s initial impression of the guy. The stablehand couldn’t be more than his mid forties, athletic build, little crow’s feet in the corners of deep blue eyes.

“Show riding?” The guy asked with the smallest hint of hope. 

Dean shook his head, not quite able to keep himself from returning that easy grin. “Rodeo,” he explained like an apology. “I know I clean up nice, what with the suit and all, but…” he laughed, smoothing hands over his jacket and tie, “it’s just part of the dress code. I’m still a country boy at heart.”

“When was the last time you had a chance to ride?”

“Years,” he sighed softly. 

“Would you like to?”

_ Yes _ . 

_ God yes _ . 

Unfortunately, work had to come before anything else. 

For the last six years that had been the rule.

And it would keep on being the rule. 

“I shouldn’t,” Dean said regretfully, taking a small step back from the stalls. “I need to wait around for the boss like a good bodyguard.”

“The boys aren’t going to be done for quite some time.”

“My boss gets pretty worked up when my tie’s crooked. I think he’d have an aneurysm if he came back and found me covered in horse hair,” and that was the last single excuse that Dean could come up with for not letting himself have fun. As excuses went, it was a decent one. 

He needed to be ready and available for Luci, whenever Lucifer finished up his business here. 

“Clothes are very easy to clean,” the man came out from the stall, closing the gate behind him, “never let something as simple as a little mess get between you and something you love. Come on. I’ve got a horse that could use a bit of a morning run, if you’re up for it.”

Dean looked back towards the house.

“Don’t worry about them. Whenever the boys come home they’re here for a couple hours at least. You’ve got time.”

Dress shoes and slacks were absolutely not appropriate riding clothes, but other than the fact that he’d have a hell of a time getting all the horse hair off himself later, Dean decided he wasn't going to let it bother him. 

He helped the guy saddle up the dappled mare from the pasture, sneaking her treats from his pocket. It felt good to be doing something with his hands, something tangible, instead of babysitting a grown ass man who didn’t want to be babysat. 

“Everyone keeps saying ‘home’,” Dean scratched the horse down the length of her nose, then glanced at the man tightening her harness, “did the brothers grow up here?”

“Most of them did.”

“You been with the family long?” Not that Dean was out here to fish for information on the Williams, but as long as he was here it didn’t hurt to connect a few dots.

“Oh, years and years,” he smiled again, like a pleasant memory. “How long have you been with the boys?”

“Mike brought me on as a bodyguard for Lu about a week ago,” Dean was rounding up. It had been a very long few days that were beginning to feel like forever.

“An important body to guard,” he chuckled.

“He definitely doesn’t make it easy for me. But I think I’m up for the job.” Dean grinned and patted the horse’s neck. “Is she ready?” 

The stablehand nodded, taking a step back. “Do you need help up?”

Dean waved off the helping hand. He easily swung himself up into the saddle, which was a notably different shape than the one he’d used as a kid, but it still felt like coming back to an old friend. The horse was warm and solid beneath him, shifting and waiting for Dean’s cue to move.

With a promise to brush the horse down once he was done with his ride, he lightly tucked in with his heels, just a little nudge,and the horse took off at a slow trot. 

It really had been years since he’d had a chance to ride, but his body remembered how it went, how to steer with his legs and how to shift with the horse’s movements so he wouldn’t end up with chafed thighs and a sore ass for the rest of the day. One easy lap around the pasture and then the horse was running, Dean bent over her neck and grinning.

By the time he made it back to the stable, Dean realised that he’d been overly optimistic about just hopping back on a horse after so long with his feet on the ground. Sliding back to the ground, he tenderly shifted from foot to foot but didn’t find any relief for the aching in his legs.

It was a bit of a blessing that the stablehand was nowhere to be found. No witnesses to Dean sadly rubbing his backside before taking off the horse’s saddle and tack and getting her brushed down. 

Once she was settled, and given probably more treats then she needed, Dean gave her one last pat and hefted her saddle up over a shoulder so he could go put it away. He didn’t expect to find a clean change of clothes and a neatly written note where he’d pulled the saddle from earlier. It took a bit of juggling, but Dean traded the clothes for the saddle, and looked at the note that he could only assume was meant for him. 

_ Something clean for you to wear. _

_ -M. _

That was all. Dean flipped the paper over but found nothing else. 

He looked down at himself and the grey and white horse hairs clinging to his black suit, then looked back at the door to the tack room. He pulled it closed and quickly changed into the clean set of clothes that had been left for him. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight in the shoulders, but not too bad―and more importantly, it was a damn fine suit. Significantly nicer than Dean’s, probably the nicest suit he’d ever worn, clean lines, and very rich fabric that felt impossibly nice against his skin. 

Even after an hour more of waiting around for the brother’s to return, Dean found himself still fixated on the feel of the borrowed suit, admiring his reflection in the car’s window, preening and tugging at the ends of the sleeves that were just a touch too short. It was a nice distraction from how bad he was still hurting from the ride earlier, and he just hoped that Lucifer had no plans for the rest of the day, and Dean would be allowed to lay face down on the couch and regret the little treat he’d allowed himself. 

Lucifer came out of the house by slamming open the doors, storming down the steps, with Michael struggling to keep up. 

Dean wondered if he looked as frazzled when he was chasing after the blonde, speed walking to try and match the pace of those long legs. 

Not even sparing a word or a glance in Dean’s direction, Lucifer threw himself into the backseat of the car, folding his arms and looking out the far window. 

It was obvious that whatever they’d come ‘home’ to do, hadn’t gone well, and Dean was about to ask, but one look at Michael and he shut his mouth tight. 

The oldest Williams’ boy was grinning, and happy was an unsettling look on that man. It set Dean’s nerves on edge and made his hand wish it was holding a gun. 

Michael simply got into the back of the car, sitting across from his brother, and beaming like he’d just heard the best joke in the world.

As awkward as that morning’s car ride had been, the return trip promised to be worse. 

Dean lowered himself into the car, and had to force himself to stay sitting as Michael turned that carnivorous grin his way. 

“So, uh… good meeting or whatever?” Dean asked uneasily.

“I think it went well,” Michael nodded, looking to his brother, “wouldn’t you agree?”

“Shut up,” Lucifer said, still looking out the window, his shoulders hunched up to his red ears.

They made it back into the city before anyone braved another word, which equalled out to nearly a full hour of silence that ate at Dean. He knew better than to try and chat though. He had nothing to say to Mike, and Lucifer looked ready to throw fists. So, the uncomfortable silence was allowed to fill the back of the car. 

Lucifer was the first one to speak, abruptly turning in his seat to face Dean. “Those aren’t your clothes.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

“I look amazing though, right?” Dean cracked a half smile, flattening his palms over his knees, loving the feel of the cloth.

“I told you not to sleep my siblings,” Lucifer bit off each word, “so instead you go and fuck my dad? In what world is that an acceptable alternative?”

Dean blinked, bewildered at the accusation.

Michael leaned forward, angling his body towards Dean and asking, “Is  _ that  _ why you wince every time we go over a bump?” Both eyebrows hitched up and he looked back at his brother. “I always pictured dad as more of a gentle lover, to be honest.”

“I don’t picture anything,” Lucifer raised his voice, drowning out Mike, “what the actual hell is wrong with you?”

Dean made a T with his hands, calling for a time-out. “Hold up, now. I was riding―”

“I don’t want details!” Lucifer cut him off, pressing himself against the car door to put as much room between him and Dean as he could. “I don’t care if you fucked him, or he fucked you. This is a trust issue, Winchester.”

“I rode a  _ horse _ !” Dean joined the shouting, finally shaking himself free of that stunned feeling. “With a saddle. Like a normal person does. It’s just been a hot minute since I last rode and I’m gonna be feeling it for the next few days. For fuck’s sake, Luci.”

It wasn’t like Dean expected an apology for the man’s lunatic accusations, but he also didn’t expect the two Williams boys to fall dead silent, both gawking at Dean with matching wide eyed expressions.

“What a shame,” Michael said finally, shaking his head, “and you were just starting to get interesting.”

Dean didn’t know what to do other than shrug slowly, wide eyed and waiting for clarification. He looked to Lucifer but didn’t find any more sympathy from that side of the car.

“He’ll kill you,” the man whispered with a brittleness in his voice like fear, and for someone who had literally been threatening to gut Dean the night before, it was a startling shift in tone.

“I’m lost.” If Dean was supposed to join these men in their shell shocked horror, he needed a damn good reason.

“Dad,” Lucifer hissed. “No one is allowed to touch those horses. Not without his permission. I’ve watched him feed a man his own teeth just for leaving the stable door open. Not even one of the horse stalls. Just the stable.”

“No. I― I had the ok of the guy who works out there. He helped me saddle up one of the mares. I had full permission.”

“The guy who  _ works  _ there?” Lucifer repeated the words like he’d never heard them before. 

“Just some stablehand. I didn’t get his name. Fit, not too old, sandy hair. He said he’d been with your family for forever...” 

Lucifer shook his head, then widened his eyes as a thought seemed to occur to him, and he asked, “Did he have the bluest eyes and the most charming smile?”

“I guess?” Dean couldn’t deny that the smile had made a small impression on him, but he hadn’t really looked that closely at the guy to remember his eye color.

Michael took a turn shaking his head, mirroring his brother so perfectly. He turned away from Dean and sighed as he said, “Sounds like Dad to me―and it would explain why he came in the house with his riding boots on,  _ and  _ why he said it was unfair how charming demon spawn can be when they try.”

“I did think that was a little weird, even for him,” Lucifer grunted.

“On the bright side, it does mean Dad won’t kill your bodyguard. Not if he was the one who helped saddle up the horse.”

Lucifer did not look even slightly mollified, sinking back into his seat and doing that distracting thing where he tugged at his lower lip while frowning into the distance. 

Dean wished he could have spent the remainder of the car ride trying to not stare at the other man’s mouth. Instead he sat there gently tugging the sleeves of his jacket, wondering if it actually belonged to Marlon Williams. What if the brother’s weren’t wrong? What if the unassuming man that Dean had met was actually the head of one of the United State’s largest crime families―and the whole reason that Dean had been sent out here. 

Marlon was the end goal to these six long years undercover, and Dean had been too distracted by horses to even notice how close he’d gotten. 

Stuck on that thought, Dean didn’t have anything to say for the rest of the drive, or the long walk up the couple hundred stairs back to Lucifer’s apartment. 

The sound of keys shook Dean from his thoughts, and jolted him back to the current problem at hand. 

“Whoa. Whoa. No you don’t.” He caught Lucifer’s wrist and stole the keyring. “You let me open the door and go in first.”

“I let you take a shower as soon as we get in,” he said, eyeing Dean, “because I can still smell him on you.”

Dean frowned. “You’re a real scent based kinda guy, aren’t ya?” 

“When I can’t separate your smell and his, and it makes it impossible for me not to see him bending you over? Sure,” Lucifer ran his hands through his hair, “you can call it scent based. Mostly it’s just disgusting.”

“Why do I have to be on bottom?”

“Because I saw how well those bowlegs of your’s fit around Gadreel.” 

Dean was alright to let slide the fact that he'd been called a ‘charming demon spawn’. 

He could even ignore the insinuations that he stank of ‘Dad’.

But he wasn’t about to quietly stand by while Lucifer sneered at him, and acted like Dean had been caught in the middle of some vile act―when the only thing he’d done was accept the offer of a clean suit.

He took a threatening step into Lucifer’s personal space. “I know you’re trying to talk down to me, because you think your money, or your family, or height, or whatever the hell you are gives you some higher ground.” He was close enough to see those flecks of silver in the other man’s cold, hard eyes. “But  _ you  _ were the one whimpering my name last night, Luci. So maybe come down off that high horse of yours now and then, you judgy son of a bitch.” 

Lucifer’s breath hitched and the slightest bit of angry red blossomed in his cheeks. “Open the damn door, and then take a shower while I burn that suit.”

Apparently Dean wasn’t allowed to feel like he had the upper hand, not even for a minute.

“Yes,  _ Boss _ . Right away,  _ Boss _ ,” Dean gave a mock curtsy, before taking out his gun and returning to the door. If anyone was waiting inside to shoot Lucifer, they’d had all the time they needed to get ready as the two men had stood in the hallway bitching at one another. 

The apartment had been empty every single time that Dean had gone in first to check, and it had definitely given him a small false sense of security. He nearly shot Cas when he saw the dark haired man sitting on the couch, Dean’s brain only slightly faster than his itchy trigger finger.

He pointed the gun towards the ceiling and let out a sharp breath. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to sit around and be spooky.”

Cas smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

Dean glanced back towards the still open door behind him, “You can come in, Luci. It’s just one of your  _ many  _ family members who would look good between my legs.”

“I look good anywhere,” Cas mused, giving Dean’s legs a lingering look before nodding to Lucifer. “Usually I’d set up a meeting, but since this is about someone trying to kill you, I thought you’d be willing to forgive the breach in protocol.”

“Midnite found something?” Lucifer so easily switched gears from hassling Dean to worrying about his own skin. Almost a little too eagerly he demanded, “Who?”

“Information isn’t free, big brother.” Cas stretched as boneless and comfortable as a cat, looking so perfectly at home. “Payment first. You know how this works.”

Lucifer opened and closed his mouth, an odd noise in his throat before he suddenly turned back to Dean, bearing his teeth as he pointedly growled, “Shower. Now.”

“This has a bit to do with me too,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and tucking his unneeded gun back into its holster. 

“Get out of the damn suit,” Lucifer raised his hands, gesturing, and then stopping short before touching the clothes in question. “I can’t think straight with you dressed like that.”

“How do you even function being wound this tight, man?” Dean demanded. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack before the next hitman gets a shot at you.”

Yet another insult wasted on the other man. The angry lines of Lucifer’s face hardly even shifted as he simply grabbed Dean by the tie and started dragging him towards the bathroom.

“Your daddy’s gonna want this suit back,” Dean tried to drag his feet and wriggle free, “Chill. Fine. I’ll get out of it. Stop.  _ Stop _ \--”

Lucifer had pulled the knot out of the beautiful blue silk tie, throwing it on the floor in disgust, before pushing his hands over Dean’s shoulders and shoving off the jacket in one smooth motion, trapping Dean’s arms in the sleeves down at his sides.

“At least slow down, Lu,” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, his body not seeming to know how to deal with being undressed so aggressively by the other man. “This is too nice a job to rush.” He barely got the words out before being shoved, stumbling backwards, into the bathroom, the door slamming shut in his face.

“Scrub. Everything,” Lu shouted through the door. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come in here and supervise me?” Dean taunted back. “Make sure I don’t miss a spot?”

He didn’t get an answer though. 

Frustrated, and irritated, and worked up in odd ways that never seemed to come at a good time, Dean untangled himself from the suit and carefully laid it out on the counter. Maybe he could talk Lucifer into letting him get it dry cleaned so he could keep it. Otherwise it was just a waste of the best thing that Dean had ever had the privilege to feel against his skin.

He followed Lucifer’s stupid demand and took the angriest shower in the history of showers, scrubbing himself until his skin was pink. The last thing Dean needed today was to be sent back for a second shower because he’d somehow missed a hint of that dad-scent that only Lucifer seemed to be able to smell.

It nearly made Dean wish that he had put the moves on dear old dad. Really give Lucifer something to get his panties in a twist over.

What he needed though, what he’d really been needing for the last six years, was a way to get in close with the Williams’ family. To gain their confidence, to learn their secrets. 

But instead, Dean was making sure he smelled nice for some son of a bitch who probably had earned whatever hitman that came for him.

A son of a bitch who sure had moaned Dean’s name prettily the night before.

Shivering despite the hot water spilling over his head, Dean smothered out that little flicker of a memory, ignoring the heat that it threatened to bring to his insides. 

Questionable potions aside, Dean got to choose who he’d jerk off to in the shower―and Lucifer didn’t deserve that honor. 

Deliberately dripping water all over the tile floor, he grabbed a towel and dried himself as spitefully as possible, but his angry movements quickly slowed. 

Lucifer had been so determined to get rid of him, that Dean hadn’t had a chance to grab a clean change of clothes. 

Putting the dad-suit back on felt counter productive. 

Which left Dean with two choices, but only if he was feeling particularly optimistic.

He cracked the bathroom door, hearing the tapering edges of the brother’s conversation, both men on the couch shutting up the instant Dean was in hearing range. 

“One of you mind grabbing me some clothes?” Dean called through the slender crack in the door.

“I’m not your butler,” Lucifer barked back.

“Only if I get to put them on you,” Cas offered in the same breath. 

Which whittled Dean’s options down to one.

Simmering in irritation, he twisted his towel around his hips (wishing it covered a whole lot more leg than it did), and left the safety of the bathroom. 

Dean could feel the brother’s eyes on him. 

It wasn’t his first time waltzing through hostile territory, or of feeling like a piece of meat being dragged out like bait for a pair of hungry beasts; twin predator’s gaze tracking his short path from the shower to the foot of the couch.

It should have made Dean nervous. It should have put him on high alert.

Instead it made him powerful. 

A towel, two heavy and knotted bracelets on his right wrist, and a handful of scars and tattoos were the only things keeping Dean from tripping the line into full frontal nudity, and he felt like the most powerful person in the room. 

Water was running in slow rivulets down the back of his neck, cooling as they trailed between his shoulder blades. Dean didn’t care. He took his time pulling out jeans and a shirt, really weighing his flannel options, biting his lower lip in thought before carrying the change of clothes into the bathroom.

Even with the door between them closed, Dean imagined that he could still feel the weight of the other men’s eyes. 

Humming softly, far too pleased with himself, Dean pulled off the towel and finished scrubbing the water from his hair. He slipped into his jeans, feeling a flutter of sadness because denim couldn’t hold a candle to the feel of the forbidden suit. They were his though, and he’d take comfort over quality any day. 

He caught himself looking longingly at that suit though. Wondering what sort of sweet talking he’d have to do to convince Lucifer not to burn it to ash. The guy has some weird possessive tendencies that Dean hadn’t untangled just yet, and that was one more thing that he might be able to bend to his favor if he could figure out how.

That’s when arms folded around him, white dress sleeves pressing against his chest, and a warm hand folding over one hip. 

Dean’s breath got trapped, fluttering against the cage of his ribs, as a soft mouth trailed slowly over the back of his neck. The northmost part of him wanted to riot, to shove Lucifer off of him, because this was not part of his job description―but the southern parts of Dean argued that that little teasing cut of teeth on the curve of his ear felt far too good to be denied. 

Fighting down a strange noise that crept up his throat, he had to put both hands on the counter to steady himself as the other man’s stubble scratched along the sensitive skin of his neck, slow and deliberate kisses being pressed along Dean’s racing pulse.

This was not a place that Dean had planned to get, but he also couldn’t deny that it had clearly been on the table since the night before.

He also couldn’t deny how good it felt. 

Dean caught the hand tracing the anti-possession tattoo over his heart, dragging that hand upwards and curling it around his throat. The man behind him chuckled softly, pressing calloused fingers to the underside of Dean’s jaw, tipping his head to one side to better kiss the spot behind his ear.

It drew a ragged sound from Dean, and he slid his hand back into Lucifer’s hair, tugging on him, demanding, “ _ Fu- _ ” he panted softly, “I’m not gonna’ fuckin’ break, you son of a bitch. Leave some god damned marks on me like I’m yours,” until he felt that sharp pressure of teeth against his neck. A tentative nip that made Dean’s eyes flutter. 

And that’s when he saw it. 

The fog in the mirror had started to clear with the cold air spilling in from the other side of the house. 

There was Dean’s reflection in the mirror, his skin flushed with desire, his eyes lidded and hungry, and his hand tangled in a mess of short, very dark hair. 

“Whoa.  _ Stop _ . No. No, no, no,” Dean stumbled over the words, his mind racing as he pulled himself from that delicious embrace, “you’re not Luci.”

Cas blinked at him, a confused grin turning up one corner of his mouth. He let Dean escape though, not pulling him back in, just watching him with that curious smile. “You thought I was my brother?”

“Well I didn’t know you were  _ you _ .” His heart was hammering in his throat and Dean laughed tightly, reaching for his shirt. “You gotta at least buy me a drink first, buddy. I’m not that kinda’ girl.”

“What a shame,” Cas said with a sigh, watching Dean pull the rest of his clothes on. “But I respect your loyalty... even if he doesn’t deserve it.”

Dean wrapped himself in his flannel like it was armor, layers of safety between him and the other man with that beautiful mouth. “I think there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thanks?”

“If you ever put some brains in that pretty head of yours and realize you need to get away from this family before they fully get their claws in you, I can see that there’s an opening for you with Papa Midnite.”

“As  _ your _ bodyguard?” Dean teased to cover for the fact that under any other circumstances his inner FBI agent would be giddy at the offer of an open door. But one crime syndicate at a time. 

“While following the money trail for my brother’s first hitman, some information on you surfaced as well.” Cas wet his lips, eyes following every little one of Dean’s movements as he put his guns back in place. 

“You talk to Benny or someone?”

“Or someone,” he nodded. “I heard good things… and interesting things.”

Dean couldn’t tell if that was meant as a compliment or a threat, but he smiled and edged his way around Cas and out of the bathroom. “Well, you know, can’t always believe everything you hear.”

“Or see,” Cas said from behind him. “Those are some very… unique marks on your arms, Dean.”

He reached for something to deflect with, and the obvious distraction presented itself. “Where the hell is Luci?”

“He stepped out to get some air.”

“ _ Alone _ ?”

Dean didn’t wait for the obvious answer. 

Of course Lucifer left on his own. 

Why wouldn’t he?

It’s not like people were shooting at him or anything. 

He rushed out of the apartment.

The hallway was empty and Dean looked wearily towards the elevator. 

Catching up with Lucifer was important, but so was not plummeting to his untimely death.

  
  
  


  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been nearly a month? yikes. Sorry, friends.   
> if you're stuck in the states like me, and dreading dealing with this november 3rd, here's a big chunky chapter that has some quality snuggles. The next chapter is a bit silly, so I'l try to get it cleaned up and post it soon, just in case you're like me and really desperate for any distractions. 
> 
> <3 be strong, be safe, be kind, my friends.

By the time Dean made it outside he was winded and really not in any state to be protecting anyone. He hardly managed to draw a deep enough breath to yell at the man standing calmly in the alleyway. 

“Stop making my job,” Dean panted, fighting to keep from keeling forward, and bracing his hands against his knees, “harder than it needs― to be.  _ Fuck _ . Why do you have to― to live so high up?”

With no hint of a smile anywhere on his face Lucifer offered, “It helps discourage charming demon spawn from finding their way to me.” He turned his face away from the cloudy sky to watch Dean struggling to regain his breath. “For someone as fit as you look, you really need to work on your cardio.”

He let out a whistling breath, leaning against the side of the highrise, not even dignifying the comments with the appropriately sassy comebacks that they deserved.

The problem with putting his back to the wall, however, was not immediately obvious. But, when Lucifer suddenly crowded against him, Dean realised that he’d given himself no place to run. 

A mix of feelings sent his heart hammering and made his mouth too dry to speak. Dean tipped his chin up to look the other man in the eye with an expression that he hoped came off as indifferent.

It was difficult to keep a blank face though when Lucifer’s nose was almost brushing against his, the other man standing so damn close that those seaglass blue eyes were the only things that Dean could see.

“We’ve talked about this,” Lucifer’s words were hardly more than a breath against Dean’s mouth, “I don’t want you dressed in these kinds of clothes outside the apartment. I have an image to upkeep.”

“Yeah, well,  _ we _ also talked about personal space―and if we didn’t then we should. Because you need to take two big real big steps back, Luci.”

Lucifer didn’t though. 

Of course he didn’t. 

He flattened his left forearm across Dean’s shoulders, locking the shorter man in place against the wall. His hand slipped into the neck of Dean’s t-shirt, the pad of his thumb notching into the three day old bullet wound.

“Can you feel this?” Lucifer whispered.

Dean was feeling a whole lot of things right then, like the way that one of Lucifer’s knees had slipped between his own, or how his heartbeat was pounding so hard in his ears that he couldn’t hear the nearby traffic, or how the texture of the bricks behind him was cutting into the palms of his hands.

“This is where I touched you,” Lucifer pressed his thumb in deeper, dimpling the muscle of Dean’s shoulder, “this is where I entered you. I left my mark right here; a spot on your soul that you will never get off. Do you understand that?” 

The possessiveness might have been a little of a turn on if pain wasn’t blossoming out from Dean’s shoulder, sinking in deeper, until it buried itself into his bones like water seeping through cracks, spreading further with each one of Lucifer’s words. 

“I didn’t ask for you, Dean. I didn’t want you. I don’t need you.” His fingernail broke skin. “But, I  _ do _ have you now. You’re mine, whether or not either of us likes it.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious neither of us likes it,” Dean managed to say, grinning despite the way his voice trembled.

“I’m not asking much here, Dean. Dress like you have some dignity.” Lucifer wet his lips, the heat of his mouth radiant and so very close to Dean’s. “And also maybe try to resist parading around naked in front of my family members. They aren’t that strong.”

“What about you?” Dean had never been the sort of man to back down or to admit fear, and it was a constant surprise that he’d managed to survive his own stupidity. “How strong are  _ you _ , Luci?”

“I  _ don’t  _ want you,” Lucifer repeated what seemed to be some of his most favorite combinations of words, digging each single one into Dean’s shoulder like he could write them as bruises into his skin, “and I don’t need you.” 

“Where do you think that bullet would have gone through you?” Dean swallowed thickly, trying to close himself off from the raw nerve endings that Lucifer seemed to be pulling at. He gripped the other man by the shoulder, squeezing to hide the shaking in his hand. “Right here, like it did to me?” He pushed his hand flat over the other man’s chest and felt a racing pulse to rival his own. “Or here, where they were aiming for?”

Lucifer could play the part of a scary son of a bitch all damn day if that’s what did it for him, but no amount of pretending could hide the way his heart was hammering under Dean’s touch.

Which, again, might have been quite a turn on if it wasn’t for the stabbing pain.

Dean dragged his hand down, mapping the curves of the other man’s ribs, until he found the uneven texture of the tape and gauze beneath Lucifer’s shirt. 

“I wasn’t here in time to stop this one.” He put a bit of pressure on the wound, not much, but enough he hoped to get his point across that they could both play this stupid game if that’s what Luci really wanted. There just wasn’t a possible outcome where it didn’t end very badly. “Judging by that huge ass blood stain on your carpet, and the fact that you’re still so bruised up it looks like someone used you as a punching bag, I’d say you got pretty damn lucky this didn’t kill you.”

Lucifer’s breaths had gone shallow, but if the man wasn’t standing close enough to be giving Dean mouth to mouth, then that shift would have been easy to miss.

“How long do you think that luck of yours could hold up without a little help?” Dean pressed the flat of his hand into Lucifer’s injury and felt the pressure on his own shoulders let up a touch. “Because look at you. Look how we’re standing. You’re a giant fucking target out here in the open like this.”

Dean was poking a bear. He didn’t know how far he could keep pushing back before he missed a step and this all went sideways, but no one had ever once accused Dean of being anything other than recklessly determined.

How they were standing didn’t give him a whole lot of leverage, and it felt like Lucifer was actually quite a bit stronger than him. Dean was a desperate man hanging from a cliff’s edge, searching for any foot hold, and though it wasn’t ideal by any means, he’d just have to use whatever he could find.

Lucifer’s knee was still between his, the man standing ever so slightly off centered as he threatened Dean, possibly in a conscious effort to keep their hips and more interesting parts from meeting (but that assumption seemed to be supplied by the small part of his brain that was still holding out for this all to take a steamy turn). Dean hooked his heel around the other man’s ankle and tugged as hard as he could, pulling Lucifer’s leg out from under him and setting the man off balance for one brief moment. 

One moment was all he needed though. Dean used his hand on Lucifer’s side to turn them around, pivoting dangerously until he felt the unyielding wall catch the other man with a startled and painful gasp. 

“There. Safer.” Dean’s goal in life wasn’t to be a spooky son of a bitch, so when he spoke it wasn’t nose to nose with the man under him. He could see the uncertainty dancing in Lucifer’s eyes and the light sheen of sweat on his pale skin. “Keep going though. I think you were at the ‘I don’t want you, and I don’t need you’ part of your rant.”

Lucifer showed his teeth, his face flushed with anger. 

“I know, I know,” Dean apologised, “you like to be on top, and that’s fine and all at home, but outside I still need to be able to keep you safe.”

Lucifer shook his head, looking at a loss for words.

Which should have been Dean’s cue to back the hell up and call it a draw while he still had a chance.

But he did so love poking bears.

“You’re obviously havin’ a shit day and need to get this out of your system,” he pulled Lucifer’s hand back around his throbbing shoulder, holding it in place, “Go ahead. I can take it.”

Suddenly, Lucifer wouldn’t meet his eye, looking instead at Dean’s shoulder until he let out what sounded like a long held breath. “You insufferable idiot,” he grumbled and pushed Dean off with one well aimed shove. 

Apparently they were done.

Their game of chicken was over just as suddenly as it had started.

Which was fantastic, because Dean didn’t have any clue what he would have done if they’d kept going.

Still shaken, and his arm hurting nearly as bad as when it had first been shot, Dean dragged himself up the stairs behind Lucifer, silently making bets with himself over which one of them was going to snap first. 

If Lucifer didn’t kill him within the next couple days, Dean gave himself about a week more of this, tops. His sense of self preservation could only be kept at bay for so long before it was going to overtake that suicidal sense of duty.

However, it complicated things that Lucifer had such a nice ass. 

The apartment was empty again, Cas gone like nothing more than a bad dream. The world’s nicest suit had also vanished, and Dean silently mourned. It was probably for the best. Whatever fate the clothing had met promised to be better than what Lucifer had planned for it. 

He came back to the apartment’s front door and nodded to the man waiting out in the hall, letting him know it was safe to come in. The door was hardly locked before Dean found himself being led by the shoulders to the couch. 

“Hey, um,” he didn’t have much of a chance to even drag his heels, his body utterly exhausted from the stairs and their little fight in the alley.

Lucifer pushed Dean down onto the couch and started working the knot loose in his own tie.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, his mind going absolutely blank as he watched those perfect little pearl buttons slipping through button holes, more and more of Lucifer’s bruised chest and ribs slowly being exposed. 

This was that wildcard factor of the nice ass. It would be the wrench in Dean’s predictions of their mutually assured destruction over the next few days. 

He laughed uneasily, scrambling to untangle the sudden knots in his stomach, “Not tonight, honey, I’ve got a headache.”

Lucifer blinked in confusion, his hands stilling as he frowned down at Dean. He let out a frustrated sound, pink creeping into his cheeks, “I’m  _ bleeding _ , you jackass.” He parted his shirt like curtains on a stage, showing the red speckled gauze taped over his side, then pointed to the first aid kit that had been sitting on the coffee table since Dean’s first night here. “Your fault. You clean it up.”

Considering all the various scenarios that could branch from the simple act of removing clothing, changing bandages was definitely one of the least exciting options.

However, it was one that Dean could handle without having some kind of existential crisis of conscience. There were no moral issues with bandaids. 

He took Luci by the hips, drawing the man closer so that the injury could be at eye level, and carefully peeled back the tape and gauze. There was light scabbing around the two small stitches, the entry significantly smaller and cleaner than the exit wound on his back. The stitches had popped, the very delicate new skin beneath the scabs was torn and raw.

“Could be worse,” he said optimistically, inwardly wincing because apparently he’d been pushing much harder on the injury than he’d thought. He refused to apologise though, not as long as his left arm was hurting so bad he could hardly use it.

Alcohol swabs made the air stink with that harsh antiseptic smell, and Dean was quick to toss them aside as soon as he could, not commenting on the way the muscles in Lucifer’s stomach had flinched at the touch. Wound cleaned, He pressed a fresh square of gauze in place to try and stop the slow trickle of blood.

“You know,” Dean couldn’t help but talk to chase away the small bit of quiet that tried to settle between them, “I’m kinda glad that your weirdo brother took off. Guy sends up all kinds of red flags for me.”

“Castiel?” An amused sound escaped Lucifer and he shook his head. “You’ll have to forgive him for his… everything. He never really got the hang of subtlety. He been a bit off since we were kids.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so he kept quiet, assuming that the other man had reached the end of his train of thought. 

Lucifer picked back up after a moment though, volunteering information for a change. “I was four when our mother found out she was pregnant with him. She bolted. Took us out to New Mexico and changed our names. By the time Dad found us I was almost ten, Cas was six.” 

It was impossible to tell what, if any of this was important information. So, Dean kept his lips zipped, nodding slightly before trading the piece of gauze for a fresh one. 

Lucifer’s whole body tensed, and he took a sharp breath before speaking in a soft, measured tone, “Cas was with her when she died. It left him a little,” he bit his lip, looking for the word he wanted before shaking his head and starting over, “He’s odd, but I trust him.”

“You pulled a gun on him just a few days ago.” Dean looked up, pointedly.

“He surprised me, is all.” One of Lucifer’s hands came up to steady himself on Dean’s shoulder. “I didn’t know he was back in the states.”

Dean pulled out the little roll of medical tape and finished dressing the injury.

“No stitches today?” Lucifer asked, looking down at himself, a surprised slant to the corners of his mouth.

“It already started healing,” Dean smoothed his thumbs back and forth over the tape, “me poking at it more isn’t gonna help… you really can’t heal yourself with―” he raised both hands and wiggled his fingers.

“What is―” Lucifer copied him, also wiggling his fingers.

“ _ Magic _ ,” the word came out funny as Dean fought to keep from laughing at how stupid they both must look.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Lucifer shook his head, starting to re-button his shirt, “I can only use it on other people.”

“That means you’re gonna,” Dean rolled his left shoulder, trying to draw the other man’s attention to it and the fact that it felt like there was a red-hot nail still jammed into muscle, “fix what you did over here?”

Lucifer looked at him a little too long and a little too hard before sighing and sitting down beside Dean. “Shirt off.”

“Oh, I like when you get all bossy,” Dean grinned at the angry line forming between the other man’s eyebrows. But he did as he’d been told, shrugging out of his flannel, then grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it up over his head so that it stayed bunched against his chest and trapped his arms. It left his shoulder bare, but kept most of him still covered. Despite his joking and smiling, Dean needed that slight illusion of protection right then.

“And I like when you’re quiet,” Lucifer said flatly, before turning to the first aid kit and thumbing through the contents. He turned back to Dean with a single bandaid, tearing open the paper wrapping, and carefully covering up the little crescent moon of red that he’d made with his thumbnail earlier. 

Dean looked down at it and at the spider web like red markings that radiated out from the injury, for a moment feeling completely dumbfounded. “That’s it?”

“That’s not enough?”

“Where’s my magic touch? It feels like you put your whole goddamn finger through my shoulder, and all I get is a bandaid?” 

His hands were still on Dean’s arm, and that’s where Lucifer’s gaze stayed fixed. “There was someone I used to heal whenever she needed it. Every bump and scrape and papercut. I had no idea that every time I healed her, that I was leaving bits of myself inside of her, and she was doing the same to me.” The line of his mouth went tight and he took a hard breath in before continuing. “I felt the exact moment that she died. The bullet that went through her chest went through mine too. I― I don’t heal people if I can avoid it. You’ll be fine.”

Dean didn’t  _ feel _ fine.

But it also wasn’t his dominant arm, and he’d had worse injuries. 

“Yeah. Ok.” He reached up with his good hand to lightly touch the other man’s wrist. 

Lucifer pulled back quickly, suddenly very busy with cleaning up their first aid mess despite the fact that it had been good to be ignored for days before this. He carried the box into the kitchen, putting it back on top of the fridge and then busied himself with pulling out food because apparently he felt a need to cook.

Dean pulled his shirt back into place, and then his flannel, hiding the marks on his arms even though Lucifer had yet to make a comment on them. It was possible the man just hadn’t noticed, that maybe when Dean had come out earlier in just a towel, Lucifer’s eyes had been fixed on other things. 

He could hope at least. 

“You want any help?” Dean offered, half expecting no answer at all. 

“Have I asked for help cooking anything at all since you’ve arrived?” Lucifer asked with only average levels of sarcasm as he chopped up something with a rather large knife. 

It was clear that Lucifer was trying to put some space between them, which could be for any number of reasons that Dean was still trying to compartmentalise. This day had had far too many ups and downs for his taste, and if the other man wanted to brood in the peace of his own kitchen, then more power to him. 

It gave Dean a chance to sit and take stock of all the mistakes in his life that had led him to this point. 

**___________________________________**

They ate mostly in silence, Dean mumbling a small bit of appreciation for the meal, because Lucifer was actually a passable cook. The compliment drew a small smile out of the other man, which went a long way to easing that tension that had been piling up all day long. In a very small effort to keep it going, Dean offered to do the dishes once they’d finished eating.

Washing and drying gave Dean more time to think.

The sink got emptied, Dean’s fingers got pruney, and Lucifer tucked in at the table to silently work on a crossword puzzle that had him frowning and chewing the cap off a pen.

The guy was passably cute while he was lost deep in thought, and Dean had no idea what to do with that unexpected feeling. He dried his hands on his pants and retreated to the safety of his corner of the couch. 

He tugged at the edges of his flannel, glancing back at Lucifer. “So, just how set are you in this whole me always being dressed to the nines thing?” 

Lucifer said nothing. He didn’t need to. The angry line between his eyebrows spoke volumes for him. 

“See,” Dean drawled, “the thing is, Cas stole the forbidden suit on his way out.”

Lucifer’s fingers began drumming against the table.

“And my other suit is back in the horse stable,” Dean frowned at how that sounded, and hurried to explain further, “because it was covered in horse hair and I know that you’ve got a bug up your ass about my level of  _ clean _ . So I changed right away, and you’re welcome.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you only own one single suit?”

Which was not the problem that Dean had been bracing for. “Yeah? I’ve got a couple button down shirts, but really like, jacket pants and tie are all pretty reusable.”

He slowly set down his pen and turned to look at Dean. “You’ve been wearing the same suit every day since we met?”

“I changed my shirt. The one I got shot in kinda’ had to be tossed... for obvious reasons.”

Lucifer stared at him like he was some sort of alien species.

“Benny didn’t give a shit what I wore. So it was comfortable clothes most of the time. I never needed a second suit.” Dean looked down at his jeans and shirt and wondered just why the hell it wasn’t good enough. He was only a bodyguard. He just had to look marginally intimidating and he could easily do that without a tie.

Sighing in irritation, Lucifer pulled a day planner from the clutter spilled over the tabletop. Then a pencil. 

“Are you ghosting me now, or…” Dean trailed off.

“I’m rearranging my schedule.” He said distractedly, the end of his pencil going into his mouth and he chewed slowly. “You can wear one of my suits tomorrow, and we can take you to the tailor on Wednesday, but it will be at least a few more days before he’ll have something ready for you.”

“I don’t need anything fancy, Lu,” Dean cringed at the suggestion. “I can give Sammy fifty bucks and have him pick me up something from JCPenny.”

Lucifer looked up, pencil dangling from his lips. “I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.”

Groaning, Dean sank further into the couch. “You gonna lose it if I tell you the suit that I’ve been wearing was twenty dollars from a second hand store?”

The pencil hit the table and Lucifer pulled a face like he’d tasted something sour. “Did Benny not pay you in all the years you worked for him?”

“I prioritise.”

“Appearances should always be a priority.”

Dean snorted, sitting up straighter, turning his body towards Lucifer. “You weren’t exactly complaining about this appearance when I came out of the shower looking for a change of clothes earlier.”

“I was too busy thinking about how I need to buy new towels to really notice much else.”

“ _ Towels _ ,” Dean repeated, laughing good and hard for the first time since he’d met this man. “Buddy, I could see you, and it wasn’t my  _ towel _ you were looking at.”

Lucifer didn’t have the decency to even look slightly embarrassed, and that was fine, just like it was fine that Dean wasn’t going to bring up that he’d let this man’s brother bite his ear because he’d thought it was Lucifer back there. The longer they went without properly acknowledging that they might actually like each other, the better chance for the feeling to go away. 

As scary things went, Lucifer clocked in at roughly a seven out of ten on Dean’s scale of monsters. A bit more than average for what he dealt with on a regular basis, but there were definitely worse things out there. Dean was holding out hope that Luci might cross that line from questionably  _ spooky-as-hell-but-I’d-still-try-hitting-that  _ into the far more clean cut and avoidable  _ don’t-fuck-with-him-if-you-value-your-life _ territory. The second was always so much easier to deal with. Dean knew where he stood with those sorts of monsters. 

Unlike with Lucifer. 

When it came to Lucifer, Dean was still sticking with his prediction of a week tops before one of them was dead on the floor―which may or may not include some risky sexual advances before they pulled guns on each other. 

He pressed his hands to his face and let out a deep breath, trying to blow the invasive thoughts away. 

“You don’t own pajamas do you?”

Dean parted his fingers, looking over at Lucifer. 

“That’s why you wear your day clothes to sleep,” the man said with a frown, like he fully understood now even without Dean’s input, and he fully disapproved.

But Dean had had enough sour looks for one night, and he couldn’t keep himself from teasing, “I figured you’d prefer me in jeans over sleeping bareass naked on our couch.” 

Which was enough to get a hint of color creeping into the other man’s cheeks, and Dean felt like he’d won. 

“You are the worst house guest I’ve ever had,” Lucifer finally said as he got up from the table. 

Dean watched in apprehension as the blonde vanished into his closet, grumbling just loud enough that the sounds of irritation carried back to Dean. Though he knew he should dread whatever the other man was in there muttering about, he couldn’t help himself from taunting, “You comin’ out of the closet anytime soon? Or do I have time to step out for a smoke?”

Something in the closet fell, followed by soft swearing, and then Lucifer stomped his way back to the couch and threw a pair of pajama pants in Dean’s face. 

The black silk pants were absolutely not Dean’s style. “Not that these don’t feel like a million bucks, but I’m really fine how I am.”

“For god’s sake.” Lucifer pulled the pants out of Dean’s hands and hit him over the head with them. “You’re not sleeping on  _ my _ couch, fully dressed in street clothes, like some homeless person on a damn park bench.”

Dean grabbed the pants that he was repeatedly being hit with, yanking them free and frowning up at the other man. “Technically, I  _ am _ homeless, so…”

Lucifer made one last parting sound of frustration before walking away. 

Then, wheeled around and stomped back to the couch to loom over Dean. “Until the day I’m allowed to send you back to Benny, you  _ live _ here. Act like it. Dress like it. Treat yourself like a priority in your own damn life.” He frowned, either at Dean or at his own small tirade, and then let out a sharp sigh. “I’m going to take a shower and head to bed. I’m tired of today.”

Dean sat there, gripping the unwanted pants between his hands, as he listened to the shower turn on in the other room. He had a few options, all of which would undoubtedly come with their own unique lecture that he really didn’t have the energy for. 

Much like Lucifer, Dean was also very tired of today, and he wondered if that was going to be the only thing that he and the other man would ever agree on.

The silky pants fit like a dream, and they felt amazing against Dean’s skin, and he hated them so much because wearing them made him feel like he owed his unwilling roommate some kind of ‘thank you’.

Not that Dean was against giving thanks where thanks were due; a lifetime ago his parents had raised him to be a polite young man. 

The problem was, Dean had a feeling that a single thanks would only open the door for more drastic life changes than just sleepwear. Lucifer would latch onto that opening and next thing Dean knew he’d be eating quinoa and using a skin care routine.

He laughed at the idea, tossing his jeans and shirt back into his little suitcase. 

Part of Dean was tempted to only half dress, to leave himself in only the pants that he’d been given. It was sure to upset Lucifer when the man came out of the shower. He’d see Dean lounging on the couch, comfortable and shirtless and then he’d get that little surprised hint of pink to his cheeks. Then he’d walk to the couch and maybe try to play off that linger look as concern for Dean’s shoulder. Dean would teasingly ask for a kiss better, seeing as Lucifer hadn’t been willing to magic away all those awful fresh bruises. Lucifer would scowl, then maybe sit himself down on Dean’s lap so that he could easily press a soft kiss against the bare skin, and then― 

Dean shook himself free of the daydream, digging into his bag to find a long sleeved tee before he settled back onto the couch and pointedly began cleaning his gun because it was the first distracting thing that came to mind. 

Only, the room was far too dark, and that was the first time that Dean realised that there were no proper lights in the apartment. There was only one in the closet, the one in the bathroom, and then the large windows to let in natural light.

He slipped the gun back into its holster, and looped the holster around the arm of the couch so that it would be within arm’s reach should he need it at some point during the night. It’d be easier to just wear the stupid thing like he’d been doing, but Dean was pretty sure that would only be one more lecture that he didn’t have the energy to deal with right then. 

He was still fiddling with the straps when the bathroom door opened and a long white rectangle of light was across the room.

The apartment was a naturally quiet place. If Lucifer had any neighbors, or if anyone was living on the floor above him, they were the quietest people in the whole damn world, because Dean hadn’t heard a single footstep or distant voice in the few days he’d been living there. 

But it was a comfortable quiet. 

Peaceful.

Usually.

It didn’t feel that way as Dean looked up, blinking into the bright light, and meeting Lucifer’s eye. 

Dean hadn’t been present for whatever this man had needed to go ‘home’ for that morning, just like Dean had been banished to the shower when Castiel delivered whatever information that Papa Midnite had drummed up. 

Altogether, those two events hardly added up to more than a couple hours that Dean had missed. They must have been very long hours though, because Lucifer looked exhausted. He looked as tired as the night that they’d met, with slumped shoulders and sleep bruised eyes, and like he was actively contemplating giving up on whatever problem was weighing on him. 

The bathroom light went out, and Lucifer quietly padded across the apartment and threw himself onto the bed with a chest rattling sigh.

Dean was left sitting in the dark and really feeling that quiet settling around them. 

Without anything else to feasibly do, Dean lay down on the couch, his head hardly hitting the cushion before he heard another one of those very deliberate sighs from the other side of the room.

A smile tugged at Dean, and he asked, “What’s wrong now?” even while knowing that the answer was going to be stupid. 

“Are you really going to make me take your hand and drag you kicking and screaming into better self-care habits?”

Dean pushed himself up to his elbows, peering at the lump that was the other man. 

“You’re sleeping on a  _ couch _ ,” Lucifer fit far more scorn into that little sentence than it warranted. 

“Sure am. Same as I do every night.”

“This bed comfortably sleeps four people.  _ Four _ .” Lucifer didn’t sit up while he complained, apparently this small rant could easily be done from a reclining position. “And you’re over there letting yourself sleep on a couch that is too short for you, while three-fourths of this massive bed goes to waste. At what point are you planning to demand that I scoot my selfish ass over and make room for you so that you can finally get a good night’s sleep?”

Dean knew what he was hearing, but there must have been some faulty wiring between his ears and his brain, because it sounded like Lucifer Williams was telling him to join him on the bed.

“I, um,” Dean racked his brain for any other possible meaning to the man’s words. Smiling uneasily, he tried, “I’m sticking with my ‘ _ not tonight, honey, I’ve got a headache _ ’ from earlier. It feels like the safest thing to say.” 

One more of those patented Lucifer-sighs, and the man raised his head. “Then I’m sticking with my earlier ‘ _ you’re a jackass _ ’. Not everything is about sex, Dean. Sometimes it’s just about being kind to your spine. Get over here.” 

Dean carefully stood, waiting for the other man to laugh and say he was kidding. But Lucifer just lay there, waiting. 

Dean took two careful steps.

“Bring your gun,” Lucifer said, reaching one arm out and pointing vaguely in the direction of the couch. 

“I suppose I should have known you were into the kinky stuff,” Dean teased to cover that awful uncertainty.

“It’s in case someone comes in while we’re sleeping, you walnut. You’re also sleeping between me and the door, just in case you were confused about that too. It’s part of the bodyguard rules.”

“Is it?” Dean unhooked his holster from the couch arm and brought it with him to the bed. “I gotta tell you, Luci, in all the years I was with Benny, he never once told me to hop into bed with him... for safety.”

“How about shut up, or you can sleep out in the hallway?” Lucifer countered.

Dean hung his gun on the bedpost then held his hands up in surrender. Usually jokes were his safety blanket, they helped to cover up bad cases of nerves like the kind currently making his stomach feel full of butterflies, but he could try his best to shut the hell up. 

He crawled into the large open space that had been left for him and hated that the bed really did make the idea of ever sleeping on the couch again seem impossible. 

Between the silky pants and the memoryfoam mattress, Dean was feeling more than a little spoiled. 

“You’re gonna make me soft,” he grumbled happily, rolling to his stomach and hugging the pillow to his face.

“Never had a guy say that to me,” Lucifer said in an almost playful tone. 

Startled, Dean raised his face and looked long and hard at the man beside him. “Was that… was that an attempt at a joke?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Lucifer frowned and rolled over, giving Dean a nice view of his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

A nice goal, but not one easily reached. 

The last time that Dean had properly shared a bed with anyone it had been in a naked and satisfied tangle of limbs, all the way back in his FBI training days. 

He wasn’t used to sleeping beside anyone anymore, and each little shifting movement from the man on the other side of the bed made Dean’s eyes fly open. He had a sinking feeling that despite the cloud-like embrace of the mattress, sleep would be near impossible.

What felt like an hour later (though he had no proof because like lights, there was no real clock in the penthouse), Dean had managed to pass into some sort of pseudo half unconscious state where he was numb to nearly all of Lucifer’s fitful rolling. 

Rolling was one thing though, but hugging was a whole other. 

Hug wasn’t the right word for it though.

Lucifer had shifted over and tucked himself against Dean’s side, one arm curling against his chest, taking a tight handful of his shirt, clinging to Dean like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. 

Dean counted down two very long minutes, feeling the man clinging to him finally grow still for the first time since he’d lain down. Lucifer’s breaths evened out and some of that tension bled from his limbs as he passed into a deep sleep.

This wasn’t part of the ‘bodyguard rules’. Nowhere in the job description was Dean needing to play big-spoon to a sleepy criminal who was having a rough day. 

That didn’t stop him though. 

Six years undercover had left Dean more than a little touch starved. Lucifer wouldn’t have been his first choice of snuggle buddies, or even second―but the guy was  _ there _ , and more importantly, he was asleep and wouldn’t necessarily remember all this come morning. 

Dean carefully angled his body towards the other man, pulling an arm around his shoulders, and quickly fell asleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all have no idea how many times the kissing in this chapter was re-written TT   
> smooching scenes will always be my kryptonite, but hopefully its a nice, tasty little snack for you my friends.

The comfortably heavy weight of someone sleeping beside him was different enough from the norm to put Dean on alert the instant he woke. The fact that he’d at some point curled himself around this other person twisted any worry he had into foggy confusion. 

Dean took a slow breath, opening his eyes to a great view of the New York city skyline. His legs tangled in the sheets, his knees notched with someone else’s in a way that was as comfortable as it was intimate. Soft hair tickled at his neck and the underside of his chin, and as he gently tried to untangle himself he realised that his arm was fairly trapped, pressed between mattress and warm skin. 

His mind was slow catching up with the situation, but Dean realised what sort of mess he’d woken up to. He knew who he was spooning. He knew whose heartbeat he could feel against the sweaty palm of his hand. The only thing he didn’t know was how to get out of the bed without waking Lucifer. 

Moving painfully slow, he started to extract his arm, trying to draw it out from under the other man’s shirt as carefully as possible. About the time Dean felt his wrist finally skimming Lucifer’s hip, near inches away from freedom, the other man suddenly shifted and he reached back to grasp Dean’s elbow hard enough to bruise. 

“I don’t know how far down you’re planning to go,” Lucifer mumbled with a sleep rough voice, “but you’re stopping right here if you want to keep that hand.”

“I was just trying to get up without making it weird,” Dean promised, overly aware of the fact that he could feel a light trail of hair against his hand. Maybe he’d gone a little further south than was necessary, but if so then it was purely by accident. 

“You sure that’s all you were trying to do?” Lucifer asked.

No.

Not really. 

Dean knew what his initial plan was, but the longer they were stuck like that, Lucifer’s question rattling around in Dean’s head almost like an offer, the more Dean started to doubt himself. 

“Feelin’ up unconscious people isn’t really my thing,” he finally said, adding an uncomfortable little laugh at the end. 

Lucifer didn’t respond. 

“Super into consent and all that shit,” Dean tacked on too, just for good measure. 

Mercifully, the man let go of his arm, but before Dean could finish his escape, Lucifer was rolling over and resting his head on Dean’s chest with a sigh. 

It was a new and far worse way to be trapped and Dean could only do so much to pretend indifference as he lay looking up at the ceiling, reaching out with his newly freed arm to feel the corner of the mattress so tantalisingly close, but at the same time so, so far away. 

What was he supposed to do?

What was he supposed to say?

Why did Lucifer’s hair have to smell so nice?

Why the hell were they still snuggling if they were both awake?

He definitely had more questions than solutions, and Dean had a feeling that even if he’d been fully awake he’d still have no idea what to do with himself, or his arms. 

Lucifer’s hand skimmed over Dean’s stomach and chest, a long finger suddenly hooking into one of the many holes in Dean’s t-shirt.

“Every time I think you can’t get worse…” the man heaved a deep sigh, plucking at the hole.

“Come on, man,” Dean whined, reaching up and trying to pull Lucifer’s finger from the rip that he was slowly making bigger, “this is my favorite shirt and you’re wrecking it.” 

“You make me sad.”

“You make  _ me _ sad,” Dean sniped back, finally freeing Lucifer’s hand from his clothing, only to be stuck awkwardly holding their arms straight up in the air. 

Lucifer raised his head, fixing Dean with a steady look of disapproval. “We’re getting you real clothes today. I can’t live like this.”

It sounded enough like an idle threat that Dean laughed―but an hour later he was standing in the closet, wearing a suit that was not his, while Lucifer squinted  _ very _ hard between two different ties that looked identical to Dean’s untrained eyes.

“It’s a tie. It’s  _ just  _ a fucking tie. I even have one of my own if you would let me go to my bag. Please stop,” Dean pleaded, standing on tiptoe to look over the shoulder of the man who stood between him and the closet door, “it’s way too early in the morning for this level of crazy.”

“This isn’t  _ crazy _ .” Lucifer lowered one tie, holding the other up to Dean’s neck. “Crazy was thinking that I could just put you into one of my suits for a few hours without the colors looking all wrong.”

Dean wanted to start yelling that he was a god damned FBI agent, not a dress up doll, but he took a deep breath and instead suggested, “since clearly you’re not ever going to be happy with how your ties look on me, why don’t we make that the first stop of today’s shopping trip?”

Lucifer pursed his lips and put the ties back. 

“Is that a ‘yes’? Can we go and get this over with?” Dean didn’t want to go shopping for a new suit. He really, really didn’t, but he’d say almost anything to get out of the stupid closet.

“It’s probably for the best,” Lucifer half turned back to Dean, looking him up and down with that same critical expression he’d had all morning. “You’re almost presentable.”

“Just let me get my shoes on and we’re good to go.”

Lucifer groaned, but instead of launching into some awful tirade about how Dean’s shoes were also somehow not good enough, he simply sank to his knees in front of Dean and started to fiddle with the cuff of his pant legs. 

“Bodyguard. I’m your  _ bodyguard _ , Luci. Not your dress up doll.”

“Even with these bowlegs of yours the pants are still a little too long,” Lucifer flatly ignored Dean’s pleadings, fussing to make the folds perfectly even. 

“I don’t have bowlegs,” Dean grumbled, looking down and thinking that _maybe_ he was standing a bit wide today, but only because everything still hurt from his horseback riding adventure the day before. 

“If your knees were any further apart…”

Dean tapped his toes, waiting for the end of Lucifer’s latest jab, but one didn’t seem to be coming. He sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. “Look, not that the sight of you on your knees isn’t one of the prettiest damn things I’ve seen in a long time, but if you don’t hurry this up then the stores are all gonna be closed and we’ll have to start all over again tomorrow.”

“It’s not even lunch time yet,” Lucifer said irritably, getting to his feet. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“You’re the one who spent the last hour whining about me being a summer complexion when all your clothes are clearly suited to complement your obvious winter undertones―and  _ I’m  _ the one being dramatic?”

“Clearly you don’t understand the importance of color theory,” he strung the words together slowly, picking pieces of imaginary dust off Dean’s shoulders with each and every syllable. “Now get out of my way so I can get dressed too.”

Even though it had taken nearly an hour for Lucifer to meticulously pick out clothes for Dean to wear, he apparently was capable of dressing himself in mere minutes, emerging from the closet looking like his usual, carefully put together self. 

For the smallest second the only thought in Dean’s mind was grabbing Lucifer by his winter colored tie and getting him back on his knees, but he shook himself and blurted out the first non-sexual thought he could come up with. 

“You, uh, wanna talk about yesterday?”

Lucifer met Dean’s eyes through the mirror he was preening in, flatly saying, “No. I don’t.”

“I think it’d be a whole lot easier for me to keep you safe if I knew what the hell was going on.”

“You’re doing a perfectly fine job while not knowing a damn thing,” he assured.

“What did Cas find out?”

Lucifer turned away from the mirror, looking sideways at Dean while he collected his keys and wallet. “He found where my hitman’s paycheck came from.”

Dean waited optimistically for more information, feeling his frustration build as he followed Lucifer out of the apartment and down the hall. “And?”

“And it came through one of my family's side companies,” he said dismissively, starting the long climb down the stairs.

It was one thing to have some random aquaintance want you dead, but it was something else altogether to have a member of your own family putting a price tag on your head.

“That…” Dean wasn’t really sure what to say, “sucks, man.”

“Thank you for your deep, insightful comment,” Lucifer sighed, opening a door and leaving the stairs, abandoning Dean to stand for a small confused moment by himself. 

They hadn’t reached the ground floor. 

Dean followed, pushing open the door and jogging to catch up once he saw Lucifer pulling out a set of keys.

Not even arguing for once, the man simply handed the keyring over and gestured towards one of the doors. 

“You have a second apartment?”

“I have a third and fourth one too, but they’re mostly just work spaces. This one isn’t mine though. I just want to check and make sure that Gabriel has left for school.”

Dean looked at the door, then down at the keys in his hand. “We could just knock.”

“He won’t answer if we do,” Lucifer said as if it were obvious, then motioned towards the door again. “If you’re not going to open it, then give me back my keys.”

The likelihood of a hitman waiting for Lucifer in Lucifer’s brother’s apartment seemed unlikely, but Dean already had the keys so he went ahead and opened up the door. 

The apartment had a similar sprawling layout to Lucifer’s, all one big room, but instead of being cluttered with papers and books and clothes, everything was brightly colored and oddly clean. 

Clean except for the pants and shoes and shirts that lead towards the bed like a trail of breadcrumbs.

Dean meant to take just a precursory glance inside and let Luci in to yell at the lump still curled up in bed, except Gabriel wasn’t alone.

The sight of Sam and Gabriel snuggled close under the mountain of blankets didn’t slow Lucifer down like it did to Dean, and the blond pushed his way into the apartment without apology. 

“It’s nearly nine, Gabe,” Lucifer announced, “you’re late for school.”

“ _ No _ ,” came the small groan, and Gabriel’s mess of hair vanished under the blankets, leaving only Sam’s bare shoulders and startled face peeking out. 

“Yes,” Lucifer insisted, “get out of bed.”

“Just five more minutes,” the muffled voice argued from his hiding place. 

Sam only blinked wide eyes around the room, settling guiltily on Dean, his face rapidly turning crimson and he looked like he really, really wanted to hide as well.

“Now.” Lucifer finished closing the distance between him and the bed, throwing back blankets to unearth his little brother and haul him out of bed by one ankle. 

Gabriel was very naked.

So was Sam. 

Dean looked up at the ceiling, doing his best to not look or listen to the sudden arguing and sounds of things being thrown. It all seemed like generally non-dangerous protests and suddenly Gabriel streaked past Dean and into the bathroom with an armful of clothes. 

“I should probably get dressed too,” Sam said hastily.

“You’re not my brother,” Lucifer answered even though it hadn’t been clear exactly who Sam had been talking to, “I don’t care what you do… but you should also probably be getting ready for school.”

Dean looked back at the bed to see Sam sitting there, holding the blankets up to his chest like he had something worth hiding. “Yeah,” Dean said once he sorted through his feelings enough to feel that parental spike of responsibility, “you’re like fourteen, Sammy. Why aren’t you in school.”

“ _ Seventeen _ ,” Sam mumbled in his own defence, his face still so red, “and I got my GED last year.” 

“You sound responsible,” Lucifer said, showing no signs of discomfort to be talking to a buck naked teenager. “I expect you to act like it. If I find out that you’ve been adding to my brother’s general delinquency and trouble making? I’m going to have to have a talk with you. You don’t want me to have a talk with you.”

Lucifer liked to threaten people, and Dean couldn’t help but feel proud as he watched his kid brother roll his eyes, utterly fearless―and instead of Lucifer dealing with the teenage sass being thrown silently in his direction, the man turned on Dean. 

“Is this just how your whole family is? No sense of self preservation, not smart enough to nod and politely say ‘yes, sir’?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to call you…  _ sir _ ,” Dean drawled, letting his eyes wander over the man, lingering until Lucifer finally had the decency to look a little flustered and turned away. 

Dean grinned triumphantly once the man’s back was turned, winking at Sam, who didn’t seem to appreciate the joke either, but maybe he just didn’t understand. If Dean ever had a chance to sit and talk alone with his brother he’d have so much to tell him. 

Not that morning though.

Instead, Dean got to wait around until Gabriel emerged from the bathroom dressed in some school uniform, complete with a tie, and a blazer with a little gold cross and school name on the lapel. The kid ignored Lucifer, passing by the bed to kneel on the edge and give Sam a lingering kiss and a soft goodbye.

It’s not like Dean hadn’t seen the two boys flirting or dancing up against each other at the club two nights ago, but seeing the little moment of sweet affection was actually weird and Dean didn’t know if he was ok with it. 

He and Lucifer escorted Gabriel out of the building and all the way down to a nearby Catholic school where a scowling nun greeted them at the door and reluctantly took Gabriel.

“How many Hail Marys do you think they’d make him do if they knew he’d spent the night in bed with another guy?” Dean asked once they started walking again and had passed out of sight from the school.

“After years of having to deal with the rest of us kids, I just assume that the sisters have basically given up any kind of hope and just stick to praying that Gabe will be the last Williams boy they have to suffer through.”

“You went there too?” Dean asked, still confused by Lucifer’s openness that had started the night before. 

He nodded, glancing over his shoulder in the direction they’d come from. “Once we moved back to New York. Dad insisted. Apparently it was supposed to help undo all that public school brainwashing I’d gone through back in New Mexico.”

“Ah yes, Catholic school,” Dean nodded, “well known for their non bias approach to all subjects.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t pick the school, I’m not going to defend it, and god forbid if I ever have children of my own I won’t be sending them there.”

“But you drag your brother to it?”

“On days when it’s my turn to look after him, yeah.” He pointed towards a building on their left. “This one.”

“It’s a restaurant.” Not that Dean was ever one to turn down food, but he was legitimately surprised at the idea that Lucifer was willing to be seen in public while Dean was still missing a proper tie around his neck.

“Your clothing emergency doesn’t get to overrule the fact that I still have a full calendar today.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Dean held the door open, waiting until Lucifer walked past to quietly say, “Sorry, I meant… whatever you say,  _ sir.” _

Lucifer paused, pressing one finger into the center of Dean’s chest. “Behind closed doors you can be as disrespectful as you want and I will gladly crush your spirit, but you  _ will _ behave yourself in public.” 

It was a demand that practically begged for an irritating reply, and it took every ounce of strength Dean had to keep his mouth shut and follow the man into the restaurant.

They were given a booth near the back, with a nice clear view of the doors and windows (at Dean’s insistence), and Lucifer ordered for both of them before they were even given menus. 

“I like when you take control like that, Lu,” Dean teased, watching the room, his hands folded on the table but close to his gun. 

“And I like when you don’t look and act exactly like a bodyguard,” the man replied with an irritated sigh. “I prefer not to draw attention to myself.”

Dean drummed his fingers on the table top, looking over at Lucifer. “I’m not much of an actor.”

“My family owns this restaurant. I’m perfectly safe here, so take your hand away from your gun.”

Which sounded like a very weak argument to Dean, considering that Lucifer’s murder-money came from his own family. 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Dean said with a sigh, sinking down in the booth. He let one knee slide sideways until it hit Lucifer’s. “I’ll try to be more…  _ casual _ .”

“Casual and flirty are not the same thing.” Though he didn’t scoot away from Dean, the frown he wore said that he was heavily considering it. 

“Wasn’t trying to flirt,” Dean grinned, “but good to know that you set such a low bar.”

Refusing to be teased by Dean, Lucifer stubbornly stayed where he was, even when their food arrived. 

It was just a nice upscale breakfast, nothing exciting, except for the fact that Lucifer had a glass of red wine with his, and there was what looked to be a candy dipped spoon sitting at the base of it. 

Dean, not able to help himself, reached out to pick it up and promptly got his hand slapped away. Rubbing his knuckles, Dean eyed the whole set up. “Dude, I’d share my breakfast wine with you, but ok. Be selfish.”

“It’s a potion,” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes subtly, “and  _ also  _ wine. I guess they’re being served together now.”

“Are you doing that ‘let’s drink the mystery tea’ thing again?”

Lucifer only nodded his head, dipping the spoon into the wine and slowly stirring until it turned a deep purple. “They get in a new batch once a month and I need to test it.”

“ _ Do _ you?  _ You _ ?  _ Specifically _ ? Isn’t there some quality control in place with whoever is making the stuff?”

“We have had this conversation,” he said in almost a sing-song tone, setting aside the now clean spoon, and then taking a little note pad from a pocket and jotting down a short string of notes. “Something is very off. Has been since we shifted our focus away from running weapons over to potions and hexes.”

“Yeah, but that conversation we had included the fact that people have been hospitalised from these potions.” Dean pointed out, watching the wine continue to swirl slowly.

“This is the current popular lunch drink for businessmen. I’m sure it’s fine.” 

“And it helps them… be better at business?” He asked dubiously.

“It’s supposed to help with focus and mood,” Lucifer didn’t look up from his scribblings, “think of it like an afternoon coffee, if that helps you worry less.”

“I’m not  _ worried _ ,” Dean lightly hit the man’s leg with the back of a hand. “I’m just thinking you really like to make my job hard.”

“It’s perfectly harmless.”

“Says the man taking a page of notes before he’s even willing to taste it.”

“I like to keep thorough records.”

The drink had settled, a few heavy granules of something settling at the bottom of the glass. 

“Perfectly harmless,” Dean muttered. With a sharp sigh, he reached out and stole the glass, drinking the potion down, little crunchy granules and all.

Lucifer looked up suddenly from his notes, mouth hanging open. “You-you…  _ why _ ?”

“Because you shouldn’t be drinking mystery drinks when people are trying to kill you,” Dean said, clearing his throat and reaching for his glass of water. Whatever had been heavy in the bottom of the glass stuck in his throat like sand. “Wine for breakfast is… it’s not good. Add that to your notes.”

“I’m  _ not  _ putting that in my notes.” Lucifer snapped his little notebook closed before throwing it at the table top.

“And it was weirdly crunchy,” Dean drank a bit more water.

Lucifer leveled him with narrowed eyes and a tight pinch to the corners of his mouth, then he pulled back his little notebook and started writing with an irritated little grumble.

“Add the part about not drinking wine for breakfast, Dean said, sliding down the bench seat until their shoulders met, so that he could see what was being written. “It’s important.”

“It’s not, and stop trying to sit in my lap or this pencil is going into your leg.” The threat felt half hearted at best, just sort of mumbled as Lucifer flipped back a couple pages in his book to read notes with an older date scribbled at the top. “It wasn’t crunchy last time,” he said to himself, underlying a couple words. 

Flagging down a waiter, Lucifer ordered a second glass. 

As soon as they were alone again, Dean stole the notebook, squinting and tipping his head sideways to try and decode the spidery handwriting. “You know…” Dean turned the notebook upside down to see if it was any more legible that direction, “I drank it so you didn’t have to. You shouldn’t be taking questionable potions.”

“This is your first time taking this one, so you don’t have a point of comparison,” Lucifer pointed out, snatching back the book. 

“So you’ve taken this one before?” 

“I tried it last month, and the month before.” He scooted away, putting inches between them. “I try each new batch, otherwise it’s not really good science.”

Dean made a face, folding his arms over his stomach, and wondering why he didn’t feel much of anything yet. Usually proper potions kicked in fairly quick―with the obvious exception being that tea that they’d shared a couple days ago which had apparently needed two willing participants before it could work its magic. All Dean had was a soft warmth in his stomach from the wine, and a strong reminder of how much he’d never really cared for wine. 

A second drink came and Lucifer dissolved the candy-coating from the spoon just like he’d done the first time.

Even though he could see that this was a losing fight, Dean reached out and put a hand over the man’s glass. “I know you’re not listening to me, but I drank the first one so you didn’t have to. Stop drinking weird things.”

“I didn’t ask for you as a bodyguard, or a labrat.” Lucifer took Dean’s wrist between two fingers and carefully lifted it away from his glass. “This is my own mystery, and my own murder attmepts that I’m sorting through just fine on my own. Thank you.”

Dean sighed, letting the man hold on to his wrist with one hand and lift the glass of wine with the other. “Alright, but what if this is like last time, and we both take it, and then we both start to… you know...”

Lucifer drained his drink, licking his lips afterwards. “Then I suppose I will feel bad for the people in the clothing store and the almost inevitable misuse of their dressing room.”

Dean pulled back, frowning and not at all sure if he’d just been lightly propositioned for some sex in a department store, or if there was a different way that the other man’s words could be interpreted. 

Hours later, with two custom fitted suits ordered with the promise of a delivery by the end of the week, Lucifer was dragging Dean to yet another store in search of the perfect tie, because yes they’d already bought a tie, but it was only a placeholder until a suitable replacement could be found. 

It was nearly dark by the time they made it back to the apartment building, and after a painful day of shopping Dean surprised himself by bounding up the stairs, two at a time, chasing after Lucifer. 

“I’m  _ starving _ ,” Dean panted with a grin, resisting the urge to lightly smack Lucifer’s ass as the man came to a stop and had to shuffle the things he was holding so he could open the door to his floor. “We should have stopped for lunch. I  _ told _ you we needed to stop for lunch.”

“You couldn’t eat while getting fitted for a suit.”

“Man, I can eat while doing almost anything. You just need to have a little more faith in me.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and tossed his keys to Dean for his regular sweep of the apartment. 

Once the coast was deemed clear, Dean held the door wide for Lucifer and announced, “I’m making dinner tonight.”

“Don’t play around in my kitchen.” Lucifer warned, setting his book of fabric swatches on the table, along with the bag filled with carefully folded and boxed silk ties, more ties than Dean could wear in a lifetime. “A man’s kitchen is his own private kingdom.”

“Well consider this a non-hostile invasion.” Dean locked the door and shooed the other man out of the kitchen. “Go frown at your fabric book or whatever.”

“ _ Your _ fabric book, Dean,” Lucifer reminded and settled down at the table. “We still need to figure out what your color is.” 

Dean snorted softly, leaving the man to his impossible task. 

He had more important things to do. 

He had to scour the kitchen to see what ingredients they had on hand, because that would dictate what he could cook. That was the first time he opened the fridge, and suddenly cooking was not an option. Cleaning had to come first. 

But not while he was in Lucifer’s borrowed suit.

So, change of clothes first. Questionable food removed from the fridge next, followed by the shelves removed from the fridge and thoroughly scrubbed, and then the cabinet below the sink had to be organised.

By the time that Dean got to the point that he could actually use the kitchen the room was pretty much too dark to actually use. 

“You need to get some lamps in here,” he announced, opening and closing the fridge a couple times as he debated if leaving it open would somehow provide enough light for him to work. 

“What’s the point?” Lucifer continued to fondle squares of fabric, this whole time not even looking up once to see why Dean was rushing around the apartment like a honeybee in a field. 

“Being able to see your hand in front of your face even after six o’clock at night?” 

“There’s a kerosene lamp and some candles under the bed,” he trailed off. “Come over here,” he reached back, opening and closing his hand.

Dean sighed and came over like a well trained dog, only to have his face suddenly cradled between Lucifer’s hands as the man rose from the table. “Oh. Ok. Hi,” Dean laughed nervously.

Lucifer tipped Dean’s face up, leaning close in a way that was remarkably not romantic or suggestive, just really, really uncomfortable.

“Is this the point that you unhinge your jaw like a snake and eat me?”

A low, irritated sound rattled around in Lucifer’s chest as he tipped Dean’s face towards the light coming in the windows. “You’re much better at catching bullets than telling jokes.”

Dean let himself be pulled closer to the light, holding out hope that at any moment he’d be able to figure out why he was being manhandled this time.

“I just wanted to check your eye color.” Lucifer leaned close enough that their noses almost touched, studying Dean’s face. “Your pupils are… they’re so big.”

“Because we’re in the dark. That’s how pupils work. I think. Oh, ok, now we’re going to the closet,” Dean held on to the other man’s elbows, struggling to keep up, “this is getting a little weird, even for you.”

The closet light came on, momentarily blinding Dean after so long in the dark of the apartment. He flinched, but couldn’t pull away, not with the other man still holding him by the face.

“Open your eyes,” Lucifer demanded. 

Squinting up at the other man, Dean gave the counter offer of, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Maybe later,” he said distractedly, angling Dean’s face towards the overhead bulb. “Your eyes are so dark. Wow. Just...  _ wow _ .”

Dean shook his head, trying to free himself, but having no success. “Alright, you’ve reached peak weird, Luci. Let go.”

“Are you feeling ok?”

The concern caught Dean off guard, and he relaxed a touch, tipping his face towards Lucifer. “I feel fine. I’d even be  _ great _ if there wasn’t some son of a bitch holding my head in a deathgrip.”

“I feel fine too,” Lucifer said, looking like he planned to ignore all but the first half of Dean’s answer. “H-how are my eyes?”

Because it was the only way to be fair, Dean mushed the other man’s face between his hands and pulled him back in so close that their noses brushed. It was completely unnecessary, but it gave him an unavoidable view of the thinnest silver blue ring around Lucifer’s hungry pupils. 

“Oh,” Dean said softly, slowly letting go, and finding himself able to take a step back as the other man finally released him. “Oh, are you high?”

“I don’t think so?” 

“Am I high?” Dean asked, looking around as if the clothes hanging on either side of them might somehow have the answer. “I can’t be. I feel fine.” He looked back out at the apartment and the scattered mountain of ties and the very clean kitchen. 

“It could be from the potion this morning,” Lucifer suggested softly but not like he believed it.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to reclaim that focus he’d had most of the day, but he could feel it slipping away. “It could also have been from the amphetamines in the breakfast wine.”

“There wasn’t,” Lucifer stopped himself, frowning. “I’ve taken it a couple times. It’s fine.”

“If you keep going around taking mystery potions because you think someone’s out there swapping magic for drugs, at some point you might get lucky and find the drugs, Luci.”

“No, no, no,” Lucifer waved off the idea, chuckling. “See, the restaurant is the― it’s the not variable in this whole test. It doesn’t change. It’s safe.”

“Dude, we probably both took a double dose of adderall with a chaser of merlot, and that’s why we spent five hours buying fifty ties, and why we were asked to leave the store because you wouldn’t stop rearranging the display.”

“No. It was late. They were closing the shop.”

“You were ‘fixing’ the window display,” Dean gave little air-quotes for emphasis, “and they kicked us out.”

“I don’t get kicked out of stores,” Lucifer said firmly, turning off the light and sidestepping awkwardly around Dean. 

“You saying I got to be there for your first time?” He teased, standing alone in the closet and not caring. “Aw, that kinda makes me feel special.”

“You suck,” Lucifer called back.

“You wish,” Dean muttered under his breath. Navigating the dim apartment, he made his way to the couch and sank down. 

He had maybe five minutes to himself, to come to terms with the fact that he was an idiot who’d had a glass of adderall for breakfast. Nothing bad had happened though, and he knew from experience that that dragging feeling in his head meant that he was coming down and he’d probably be unconscious for the next twelve hours, easily. 

Thankfully, so should Lucifer though. 

So that was one less thing to worry about.

“When did you change back into your hobo clothes?” The other man butted in on Dean’s quiet thoughts. 

“Somewhere between getting home and disinfecting your science-project of a fridge.”

“You cleaned the fridge? Why?”

“Because that’s what we do when we take amphetamines… or at least that’s what I do. Apparently you harass store clerks about the mortal sins of putting striped ties too close to paisley ones.”

“It looked bad, ok.”

Dean wasn’t going to argue, mostly because he had a feeling that even clear and sober, Lucifer would have been upset by the mixed patterns.

“Change into something appropriate before coming to bed,” Lucifer said with a tired sigh.

Even though it felt like giving up, Dean was too tired to even bother arguing. They both knew that no matter how much he protested, he’d end up in bed, curled protectively around the other man anyways.

**_______________________________________**

Sure enough, once the sun made it over the tops of the neighboring highrises, Dean found himself in and out of sleep, waking just enough to pull Lucifer more comfortably against his chest before drifting back off into his amphetamine hangover. 

At some point someone started knocking at the apartment door, and Dean had groggily opened his eyes. Lucifer was holding him around the waist, face tucked against his ribs, and showing no obvious signs of waking up. 

“Door,” Dean said, yawning and shoving at one of the other man’s shoulders. “Le’go.”

“You let go,” Lucifer grumbled back, holding on even tighter.

Eventually the knocking stopped.

Dean fell back asleep. 

Far too soon after that, Lucifer was shaking him awake, hissing, “Get your ass up. Now.”

Considerably still more asleep than not, Dean sat up, reaching for his gun and looking around the apartment. 

Lucifer was half dressed, wearing most of a navy blue suit and a slightly wide eyed look of worry. 

“What’s… what’s happening?” Dean asked, stifling a yawn and seeing no obvious reason for the concern. 

“The car should be here in less than ten minutes and you’re still in bed.” Lucifer took two steps towards his closet, only to come back and hit at Dean’s shoulder. “Get up.”

“I’m getting, I’m getting,” he pushed himself up and didn’t feel nearly awake enough to properly worry that he still didn’t technically have anything ‘appropriate’ to wear, since the custom suits wouldn’t be arriving for a few more days. 

“Where are we going?” He asked, looking around again and trying to get his brain in gear. 

“Home,” Lucifer said, ducking into the bathroom and pulling out a toothbrush. “Get dressed.”

Oh, but Dean wasn’t awake enough yet. “Get dressed in what?”

“Your suit. On the couch.”

He went to the couch and sure enough there was the suit that he’d left back at the Williams’ family home. It looked like it had been dry cleaned, not a single horse hair in sight.

“Hey, how’d this get back here?” He called, holding up the secondhand store suit that he’d had for years. 

“It was dropped off this morning, along with a note from my dad that I am apparently joining him for dinner. Get.Dressed.”

There was that obvious reason for concern.

Dean dressed quickly, asking, “I’m guessing that he doesn’t normally send dinner invitations.”

“He does not.” Lucifer spit and water started running in the sink. A moment later the man was out of the bathroom and pausing for a breath as he watched Dean pulling on his button down shirt. “He…um…” Lucifer shook his head and started over, “Us kids only go home once a month, and it’s not mandatory.”

“Did he say why he wanted you to come home?”

“Dad is not the kind of man who offers explanations.” Lucifer was still standing there, stuck in place, watching Dean. “God I didn’t realise how much I hated you in that suit.”

“Well, assuming that you survive dinner, you are welcome to rip this suit off me as soon as we get back here,” Dean offered with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

A faint smile reached the corners of Lucifer’s mouth and he turned away from Dean to pull one of yesterday’s new ties from the bag they’d brought home. “Here. At least make an attempt to look less like a kid dressing up as an FBI agent for Halloween.”

Dean laughed because he was supposed to, but his heart was racing and his hands felt cold as he took the new tie and carefully knotted it around his neck. 

There was a car waiting for them downstairs and Lucifer seemed far too on edge to talk at all while the driver was present, which made for a very long and very uncomfortably silent car ride out to the countryside. Knowing where they were headed this time, Dean did his best to remember street names and turns so that he might have a chance to write out a map to the place later if needed.

From time to time he tried to reach over and nudge Lucifer’s arm whenever he saw the man chewing on his fingernails, but all it ever earned him was a frown. 

Usually Dean kept a pretty level head, it was one of the reasons he was good at his job. Calm and collected was a whole lot harder to do, however, when the very serious man beside him was bouncing his foot nervously for almost the whole hour long car ride. 

And what could Dean really do to help?

It’s not like he could just hold Lucifer’s hand and say ‘don’t worry. I know someone in your family is trying to kill you, but this unexpected dinner invitation probably has nothing to do with that’.

Especially considering, as far as Dean was reading the situation, this evening's drive out into the middle of nowhere probably had  _ everything  _ to do with Lucifer’s hitman problem.

The big house looked a lot more imposing at night, a tall shadowy structure half hidden in the rain.

“Do I have to wait out with the car again?” Dean asked as Lucifer started to get out.

“ _ Again _ ?” He glanced back. “You didn’t wait at the car last time.”

“I’m not good at waiting.” 

“Come inside. I need―” he caught himself, giving a small shake of his head. “Just come on.”

Dean wished he had more of a chance to look around the house, but as soon as they entered they were seen to a side room and told to wait, because apparently Dad was in a meeting and would be with them shortly.

“He’s doing this on purpose,” Lucifer groaned and sank into a chair, putting his face in his hands and letting out so much of that anxious energy that he’d been trying to hold in during the car ride. “I’m in trouble and he’s going to make me sit and marinate in it.”

“Or maybe he’s your dad and he’s worried about you and just wants to check in,” Dean offered without much enthusiasm.

Lucifer laughed sharply, lifting his head to look at Dean. “I wish you could understand just how insane you sound right now.”

“Probably going to regret saying it, but he seemed alright for the five whole minutes that I talked with him.”

“Because he hadn’t decided yet if he could use you or not.” Lucifer’s eyes darted to the closed door. “As soon as he figures out what you're for, and you fail to meet that expectation, the  _ alright-ness  _ goes away pretty damn fast.”

“Yeah, my old man could be a real son of a bitch sometimes too.”

“Never met the man, but I’ll gladly trade you.”

Dean grinned, happy to see that Lucifer could manage at least the smallest bit of joking, despite the way that the man had resumed chewing on the edge of his thumb. 

Leaving the man to his quiet worrying, Dean looked around the room they’d been sent to. A heavy desk sat beside a large window with a view of the side yard and the distant stables, there were stacks of papers and notebooks, an antique typewriter, and shelves crammed with a mix of books, framed photos, riding trophies, and a mess of other  _ things _ . 

“So, you get your organization skills from your dad, I see,” Dean drawled, and lightly lifted the top few pages on the stack of papers nearest him. It looked mostly like construction proposals and receipts. 

“It’s an organised chaos,” Lucifer assured, the words mushing together as he continued to worry his thumbnail between his teeth. “Don’t touch his stuff. He’ll notice.”

Dean dropped the edge of the paper and shrugged. “Don’t know how serious or how much was just you havin’ a bad day, but I heard you tell Mike that your dad could afford a hitman.”

“And…”

“I was just thinking, if you dad’s got something to do with it then maybe there’d be some kind of... I don’t know, like a paper trail or somethin’.”

Lucifer chuckled softly. “You think he’s keeping the receipts for tax purposes?” 

“I was just thinking that you don’t get to own a house like this if you’re not keeping good records of where all your money is goin’, ya know, and… and I have no idea. I just like puzzles I guess.” 

“Puzzles are a lot less fun when there’s a chance you’ll end up dead at the end.” Lucifer was back to bouncing one leg, the heel of his shoe tapping rhythmically on the hardwood floor.

Dean couldn’t really argue with that one. 

But he also couldn’t help himself. He was a curious creature by nature. 

He poked around at the papers on the desk, carefully lifting a notebook to see a ledger. Doing his best to stifle a sound of excitement, Dean pulled the book closer and began turning pages. 

The FBI had a long list of monsters that they wanted behind bars, a list that Marlon Williams was damn near the top of―and Dean had his hands on the man’s business expenses. Sadly though, he didn’t have enough time to really orient himself to the tight columns of numbers before Lucifer came up beside him and flipped the book closed. 

“My father either  _ is _ or  _ isn’t _ aware of our merchandise getting cut with street drugs. He doesn’t really handle that side of the business. He either  _ is _ or  _ isn’t _ aware of the fact that someone is trying to kill me for reasons possibly or possibly  _ not _ related to the drugs.” Lucifer carefully put the book back where Dean had pulled it from. “But, if he finds me poking around in his stuff, he’s definitely going to get on board with the wanting me dead thing.”

“If he doesn’t want you touching his papers, then why’d he send us to wait in the paper-room?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Because he knows I’m not dumb enough to touch his stuff?”

“Then you go keep an ear at the door and I’ll take a peek around.”

“You’re not getting this,” he laughed and it came out strained. “You don’t mess with Dad’s stuff, not without permission.”

Dean looked longing at the desk. “So we’re going to go buy mystery potions every other day, to really make sure that yeah, they’re coming through your family’s business… but you don’t want any hard evidence for your theory.” He nodded, turning to look back up at Lucifer. “Sure makes it feel like we’re wasting our time, but however you wanna do it is how we’ll do it.”

The hollows of Lucifer’s cheeks darkened and he turned to look back at the desk. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “You go listen at the door,” he finally said before walking around the desk to sit in the chair.

This plan in no way satisfied Dean’s need to poke around in places that he shouldn’t, but he didn’t mind playing lookout, not when there was a slim chance that Lucifer  _ might _ be willing to share what he found once they were safely back at the apartment. 

From where he stood leaning against the door, Dean could clearly hear the steady ticking of the grandfather clock out in the hall. It made it easy to keep track of just how long he was waiting, slowly counting down and letting his gaze slip back to the desk. 

Seconds continued to tick by, and then, somewhere down the hall, a door opened and Dean could just barely make out edges of a conversation. 

“Hey,” he hissed, “ _ hey _ , someone’s coming.” It wasn’t subtle, as signals went.

It startled Lucifer right out of his focused searching, and from his lookout position on the far side of the room Dean had a beautifully clear view of the other man fly into an instant panic. 

And panic looked very, very wrong on Lucifer, like he hadn’t had much practice at it. 

Through the flurry of movement there was absolutely no way that those papers were going back to their right place. Lucifer didn’t seem to remember where a single thing should go and it showed in the white of his eyes and the fluttering of his hands as he moved, and moved, and kept moving things around. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean abandoned the door, rushing to the desk, “no wonder you didn’t want to dig around. You suck at this.”

“Not helping,” Lucifer took a stack of papers from Dean’s hands and set it off to one side―the wrong side of the desk. 

“It was over there,” Dean tried to pick the papers back up at the same time as Lucifer and all those pages went fluttering to the floor like dry leaves. 

Lucifer froze, looking at the new and obvious and unfixable mess. 

Dean would have thought that the other man would be good in a crisis. You don’t live long in his line of work if you lock up at the first sign of trouble. 

Family trouble was different though. Dean could admit to that. 

However, it didn’t mean that he had to be happy about being the only one of them able to come up with a plan. 

Dean wasn’t great at plans.

Especially when he only had seconds to come up with something. 

He came around the desk, shoving off more papers as he went, much to Lucifer’s obvious horror.

“No, no, no, no,” he held his hands out to the ever expanding mess like he could somehow undo all Dean’s damage.

But, Dean ignored the protests, sliding between the other man and the desk, grabbing Lucifer by the tie, his other hand coming up to curl around the back of his neck.

“W-what are you doing?” Lucifer demanded in a horrified whisper. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Givin’ you an excuse for the mess,” Dean explained, wishing that he’d had time to come up with  _ any _ other plan than this. He twisted Lucifer’s thin red tie around his fist, drawing the other man down into a kiss.

A kiss that was not returned as Lucifer’s whole body went tight against Dean’s. 

“Just play along,” Dean whispered against the other man’s mouth. “Yell at me about it later.” 

Other than their sharp breaths, there wasn’t much of anything to hear in the room aside from the sound of footsteps coming closer.

Uncertainty and fear danced through Lucifer’s pale eyes, and just like the panic, it didn’t look right on him. 

Thankfully it didn’t last. 

“I’m definitely gonna’ yell at you later,” he promised before pushing Dean back onto the desk, kissing him roughly as he pushed him down. 

Their teeth clicked together and Dean thought he might have tasted a hint of blood as Lucifer’s tongue pushed into his mouth, deliciously deep, forceful, biting kisses.

What was meant to be a good and logical reason for the mess on the floor, rapidly became a giant distraction as Lucifer's hand slipped up Dean’s thigh and gripped his hip, his other hand digging into his hair to pull lightly, nails scraping against the scalp.

Dean tried his very best to pretend they were just pretending. That it was all for show how his hands found their way inside Lucifer's suit jacket to pull him closer until their bodies were flush. To pretend his belly was fluttering and his heart racing out of fear of what might happen, and for absolutely no other reason. 

But, goddamn it.

Dean just wasn't a good enough actor to fake the goosebumps that prickled along his body as Luci dragged his lips along Dean's jaw to nibble his earlobe.

Auto pilot rapidly began to take over, whatever intentions that had brought them right to that moment were eagerly scattered just like that paperwork, as Dean arched his back, his knees hooking up over Lucifer’s hips. 

Dean needed this. 

He had no idea how much he needed this, until the other man was untucking Dean’s shirt to press fingers against bare skin, to trace the trembling line of his stomach, and to follow the sharp V of his hip down until they hooked around his belt and began to tug. 

They were here for a reason, but that reason had flown, and one of them was swearing softly as Dean dragged Lucifer’s mouth back to his. 

“I suppose I’ll have to have them set another plate for my new son-in-law.”

The voice froze them both in place.

All Dean could see was Lucifer’s eyes, and they must still be high, because even though it was a day later there wasn’t any other good reason for why the man’s pupils were so damn big.

They pulled apart, neither looking at each other, or directly at Marlon who was standing in the open doorway, watching them. 

A flustered sound that could almost pass as laughter squeaked out of Dean as he ran his hands through his hair, and then over his clothes, to smooth out wrinkles and tuck in his shirt. 

He cast a sideways glance at  _ Dad _ (who was damnably the same man who’d let Dean play with the horses last time), and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the mess. We’ll clean it up.”

Marlon looked at the avalanche of papers with a neutral expression, before raising an eyebrow and asking, “You two couldn’t just sit and wait for five minutes?” 

“I’ve never been all that good at sittin’ pretty and doing’ nothin’.”

A smile that could have been a twin to Lucifer’s, hooked up one corner of Marlon’s lips, his calm expression melting into something charming and approachable, and downright tempting. 

“You’re a pretty enough, little incubus. It’s not your fault that my son takes after his old man.” Marlon winked and turned back to the door. “Leave the mess. I’ll sort it out later.”

Dean, fairly certain that he hadn’t completely lost it and hallucinated the light flirting, looked to Lucifer and let his eyes go wide in a way that he hoped properly conveyed his inner mix of triumph, confusion, and internal screaming. 

Lucifer’s expression was stony, his eyes following his dad from the room before he reached out to fix Dean’s tie.

“You’re welcome,” Dean mouthed as he copied the other man, straightening the knot in that pretty red tie and brushing his fingers up along the sides of Lucifer’s throat.

“So much yelling about this later,” Luci whispered the warning, reaching up to smooth a hand through Dean’s hair and then leaving to follow his dad out into the hall. 

Dean trailed behind the two Williams, grateful to be in the back of this particular conga line, because it gave him a bit of privacy to try and calm himself down. Even though his head was telling him it was important to forget that makeout and slow grind, and to also make sure that it didn’t happen again―his libido had other ideas, however. 

He could already tell that he'd be dreaming about the other man's mouth for the rest of the night. It was completely unfair.

Lucifer's ass in those slacks was also unfair.

Dean really wished that he'd had more time to come up with a better plan than making out on the desk, because clearly that had been a bad choice that was going to be haunting him for quite some time. 

Dinner was served in a surprisingly not fancy room. Though, there was no doubt that somewhere in the house was one of those formal dining tables that could seat twenty and had candelabras or something equally ridiculous, Dean was glad to see a small round table with three place settings and simple meal of lasagna and salad. 

Lucifer stopped in his tracks, causing Dean to almost crash into him. 

The blond didn’t take a seat like his dad, instead asking softly, “Just how much trouble am I in?”

“No trouble,” Marlon said graciously, gesturing to the other two chairs that he obviously expected to be filled. 

“Then why are we having my favorite food?”

“Because I worry that you don’t eat well,” Marlon drawled, letting his hand drop to the table top where he pointedly tapped his fingers. “Sit.”

Since Dean was really only there to catch bullets for Lucifer, he stood behind the man and waited for some kind of lead to follow. 

Though it took a relative eternity, they did sit down, and Dean didn’t comment on the way that Lucifer deliberately dragged their chairs uncomfortably close before settling in. Close enough that Dean felt the man tensing as dear old Dad started to speak. 

“I heard about you getting shot,” Marlon began, pouring himself a drink, “but I can see that you’re not letting a little flesh wound keep you from having fun. So, you must not be hurt too badly.”

“It was a clean shot,” Lucifer explained softly, not touching any of the food. 

Which meant that Dean also didn’t touch the food… the really good smelling, delicious looking food.

“And the second time?” Marlon poured two more glasses of white wine and handed them to the boys. 

Lucifer was tapping his foot again, his knee jostling Dean’s leg. “I’m fine,” he said finally, taking his drink but not raising it to his mouth. 

“That’s not what I asked, Lu.”

The slight shift in Marlon’s tone made Lucifer’s leg stop its agitated little bounce.

“I caught the second one,” Dean explained, raising a hand to his shoulder, “Luci got off without a scratch.”

Marlon turned an admiring smile Dean’s direction. “Beauty and brawn? How perfectly charming. I can see why my  _ Luci _ wasn’t able to keep his hands to himself.”

“ _ Dad _ .” Even though Lucifer was a full grown man he managed to sound like a whining child. 

“It’s a shame you’re both men and there’s no chance of children. With your and his bloodlines? Your children would be...” He let the comment trail off, sighing wistfully.

_ Bloodlines _ .

It was an odd word choice. One that said Marlon knew something about Dean, something more than even Dean knew, which was a concerning thought.

“We were only fucking around on your desk, Dad. Please don’t go giving me imaginary children,” Lucifer pleaded. 

“I’m beginning to think it’s the only way I can get children out of you.” Marlon, for all his potential to be one of the scariest sons of bitches that Dean had ever met, sounded just like a mother laying on a thick layer of guilt. “I worry for you, Lu. I really do.”

“You worry that… what? That I’m going to get too old to have kids by the time I settle down?” Lucifer was relaxing in increments, and Dean had a feeling that this was an old and familiar argument.

“You don’t have to settle down to have children,” Marlon said, starting to dish food onto his son’s plate.

“Yes. I  _ know _ . You’ve clearly led by example on that one.” Lucifer took the dishes from his father, grumbling, “Stop. I’m an adult. I can get my own damn food.”

Marlon held his hands up in surrender before settling in to his own meal. “As much as it keeps me up at night, worrying about you wasting the fantastic gifts that me and your mother gave you by not having children of your own, that’s not actually why I invited you here.”

Lucifer pushed food in Dean’s direction, obviously meaning that he was welcome to start eating.

Dean just wished that he wasn’t on such high alert, so that he could properly enjoy what looked and smelled like some damn fine lasagna.

“Why  _ am  _ I here, Dad?”

“Like I said, I’m worried.”

Under the table, Lucifer’s leg started to bounce again. “I’m fine,” he said finally.

Marlon steepled his fingers, watching his son.

“I am fine,” Lucifer insisted.

“Getting shot once is just part of the job, but twice? Twice is a pattern.” Dad made a good point. “What have you gotten yourself messed up in this time?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Lucifer said softly, outwardly calm even though his tapping leg said otherwise.

“You’ve always been very independent, but when you start needing to keep people around to catch any stray bullets, perhaps it’s time for a change.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Lucifer repeated, though not any more convincingly than the first two times he’d said it.

“Fine for now,” Marlon tilted his head to one side, thinking for a moment before continuing, “but I do wonder for how long. I’ve heard that you’ve been… asking a lot of questions around town, buying back a lot of the same hexes that you yourself put together. I can’t help but wonder if that’s not somehow related to the price on your head.”

“Here now I thought I’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time twice,” Lucifer cocked a small smile, “but you’re talking about a hitman? You think someone would go through the trouble to hire me my very own assassin? It makes me feel like I’ve finally hit the big time, when everyone knows I’m just another worker bee.”

Dean had thought Gabriel had the mark of a good actor, but Lucifer? If Dean couldn’t feel the man’s leg going like a jackhammer beside his own, then he’d have no idea that that joking smile was anything other than genuine.

“I don’t raise worker bees,” Marlon said, matching his son’s smile and joking tone perfectly. “I raise very, very smart children who sometimes get distracted from their work. I’d hate if whatever piqued your curiosity got you into trouble that you couldn’t get yourself out of.”

“Bigger trouble than two of my very own hitmen?”

“Perhaps the first two were only warning shots,” Marlon’s smile slowly faded, leaving his eyes flat and lifeless. “The next one won’t be paid to miss. You’re my son, and that makes you very hard to kill, Lu. But not impossible. Remember that.”

Lucifer grew still.

“Now, then,” Marlon said into the uncomfortable silence, “I’m sure that will be the last time we have to talk about that.” The man was so confident, clearly believing that the open threat would put his son back in line.

And that’s what it was. 

A threat.

Any pretense of care and concern had been pulled back like a curtain, but just as quickly Marlon was smiling again. “Dean, I wasn’t able to stay around and talk to you after your ride. How was it?”

_ When _ was it, was a better question. Two days ago? A week?

It felt like so much had happened since his last visit. 

“It was great,” Dean grinned, easily playing along. “Not going to lie, it’s been years since I last went riding, and I was hurtin’ real bad afterwards, but it was totally worth it.”

“Are you still sore?” Marlon asked over the rim of his glass. “Soaking in a hot bath usually helps, and if that doesn’t do work there are some massages that can really do wonders with those sore thighs.”

“You know, I think the real trick would just be me going riding more often, get my body used to it again.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come to me anytime you find yourself needing a ride.”

“I’m really too busy to be coming out here that often, Dad,” Lucifer said softly and hooked an arm around the back of Dean’s chair, his thumb brushing back and forth over Dean’s shoulder. 

The carnivorous edge to Marlon’s smile chipped off as he looked back at Lucifer and explained in a soothing tone, “He’s welcome to come with or without you.” 

“He doesn’t go anywhere without me, and I don’t go anywhere without him.”

“You two are really tied at the hip, aren’t you?” Marlon chuckled. 

“He’s my bodyguard.” Where as the words were true, Lucifer sounded a lot less like he was stating a simple fact and a lot more like he was trying to mark his territory. 

“That’s right,” Marlon laughed a little deeper before shaking his head and lifting his drink again. “I do have to admit there’s something almost poetic about a demon playing bodyguard for an angel.”

“ _ Dad _ .”

“I know, I know,” he waved off his son’s short but adamant protest, “you don’t like labels. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s in your blood, just like it’s in his… it’s so unfortunate that you’re not a girl, Dean. You don’t happen to have any sisters, do you? Or a surprisingly young and still fertile mother?”

Earlier, Dean had been willing to let go of the odd and possibly inappropriate comments about his thighs. 

He wouldn’t let his family be brought into this though. 

Putting on one of those charming smiles, he shook his head. “Parents both died when I was real young, and I was never lucky enough to have any sisters. Sorry.”

“What a pity,” Marlon sighed. “I do have a few daughters old enough to have children, none as strong or with as much potential as Lu or his younger brother―but should you feel any need to… sow your wild oats, I’d be interested in introducing you to some of my girls.”

Very rarely did Dean find himself at a loss for words. 

“Speaking of Cas,” Lucifer butted in loudly, pulling his father’s attention back to himself, “have you heard from him?” 

A melancholy smile came over Marlon Williams. “Not since last year,” he said and began to cut his food into careful small bites, “but your brother needed some space, just like you did when you were his age. He’ll come back home eventually. You kids always do.”

Marlon spoke so certainly, like there wasn’t any other possible outcome. 

It left Dean wondering if the man just had that tight of a fist around his family, or if it wasn’t some sort of magical pull, because as they started on their way home an hour later, Lucifer couldn't seem to keep from looking back over his shoulder long after the house had faded into the dark. 

  
  
  
  


  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re-reading this chapter for little extra edits and realizing that it's almost 100% self indulgent snuggles   
> sorry, not sorry XD

“That was…” Dean shook his head, looking away from the back window of the car, to the man beside him, “wow. Just wow. I thought my family was weird, but, man, your dad could run circles around mine.”

One of Lucifer’s hands slid over Dean’s thigh.

It was utterly unnecessary. The man already had Dean’s attention, but that light touch put everything in hyper focus. 

“H-hi there,” Dean felt a crooked and uncertain smile creeping in. He watched the other man’s eyes flick up to the front seat and the driver who hadn’t said a single word to either of them. Dean shrugged, tilting his head towards Lucifer and joking, “I don’t think he’ll notice, as long as we keep it quiet.”

Lu rolled his eyes, his hand leaving Dean’s tigh to stroke the side of his neck, long fingers carding through Dean’s hair. The touch was geographically a hell of a lot less intimate than the leg touching, but at the same time so much more. Lucifer angled himself against Dean’s side, dragging a slow open mouthed kiss along the edge of his jaw.

Dean did his best to hold back a pleasant shiver.

“Play along and yell at me later,” Lucifer whispered, his lips brushing against the curve of Dean’s ear. “That up there is my dad’s driver,” he explained, in the absolutely least sexy way imaginable. “Anything he hears, my dad is going to hear. So if you have to talk, maybe think it through first, before you go getting us both in a lot more trouble than I can deal with.”

Lucifer didn’t let go once that bit of advice was done.

He stayed pressed against Dean’s side, a comfortable warmth, waiting, his breaths raising goosebumps all up and down Dean’s body.

Apparently they were meant to talk in this position. 

Clearly, Dean had brought this awkwardness on himself. Punishment for his ‘brilliant’ plan back in Marlon’s office. It was fair.

Worse things had happened to Dean.

He twisted, unbuckling his seat belt to turn almost fully towards the other man, nearly sitting in Lu’s lap before he was certain that the drive wouldn’t be able to see any part of their whispered conversation. Dean found balance with his hand curled around Lucifer’s uninjured side, just enough stability in the hold to keep them from bumping too roughly into one another as the car hit the occasional pot hole in the road.

Dean made a show of burying his face in Lucifer’s throat, up his jaw, before (and only because Lucifer had done it to Dean back on the desk) scraping his teeth along the edge of the other man’s ear.

It could have been the bumpy road, or perhaps Lucifer actually shivered at that gentle bite and the way that Dean apologised for the unexpected nip of teeth by lightly sucking on his earlobe. Dean tasted the salt on the other man’s skin and felt that sharp intake of breath.

For the first time since meeting Lucifer, Dean felt like he had the upper hand, even if he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep it. 

“You gonna’ be alright?” He whispered.

Lucifer didn’t answer, and even though Dean couldn’t see the other man’s face he felt like he could imagine the other man’s frown in response to the question about his general well being. 

So, Dean would take a different tactic. “I don’t know about you, but that whole dinner conversation with your dad scared the piss outta me.”

One of Lucifer’s hands slipped up under Dean’s jacket, pressing into his back, and if it was anyone else doing it then Dean might have mistaken it for a hug. 

“He was toning it down,” Lu whispered, his words nearly inaudible because of the way his face was pressed into the bend of Dean’s neck. “He likes you apparently, so he was running at only fifty-percent his usual level of scary.”

Dean chuckled uneasily. 

“If you weren’t there I think he might have just let me finish dinner and then put me down.”

And Dean stopped chuckling. “You think it’s him?”

“I  _ thought _ it might be him before tonight,” he clarified in that stilted whisper, shaking his head, his mouth open against Dean’s throat for a breath before he continued talking, “now I know it is.”

Dean didn’t fully understand the reason, but he knew enough. More than enough to say, “That’s shitty, man. Real shitty.”

“Hey, he only wants me dead. He wants to  _ breed _ you.” Lucifer chuckled and it sounded strange. “Between the two of us, I’m definitely getting off easy.”

That drew another slightly manic laugh out of Dean. “Thank god I’m not a girl I guess? Because he looked at me like he wanted to put me in one of the horse stalls and keep me.”

“You’ve got nice teeth, glossy coat, good legs, and oooh, those strong flanks,” Lucifer teased, apparently just as ready to move away from the topic of his own impending death. His hand slipped from Dean’s back to lightly slap his ass.”You’d make fine breeding stock.” 

“Fuckin’ yikes, Luci,” Dean laughed in a way that sounded unfamiliar. “Just  _ yikes _ .”

“Thank god you’re not a girl,” Lucifer repeated Dean’s earlier scentiment, his hand still resting along Dean’s strong flanks.

“Because apparently your dad is all kinds of hot and hungry for my…bloodline?”

“You noticed that?”

Dean pulled back enough to look the other man in the eyes. “Yeah. It was sort of hard to miss.”

Lucifer glanced past Dean, up towards the driver’s seat. 

Right. They still weren’t alone. 

He pushed their foreheads together, softly asking, “What the hell?”

“You’ve got magic in your family. You know that.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t say magic,” Dean whispered against the other man’s mouth, feeling a little flutter in his stomach each time their lips brushed. “He called me a demon, and before that an incubus. Which, yeah, a little flattering, but why the hell does your dad think I’m a demon?”

“Not  _ you  _ specifically,” Lucifer’s eyes drifted half closed, “but somewhere in your family. Yeah.”

“No. No there’s really not.”

“Power comes from one of two places, idiot,” Lucifer’s teeth caught Dean’s lower lip for a moment, which was a lovely feeling. “Anyone with any magic in their family at some point had a grandma or grandpa fucking around with either an angel or a demon.”

Over the years Dean had heard an awful lot of speculation where magic came from. Clearly it was genetic since it moved down through family lines like a recessive redheaded gene. 

But angels and demons? 

That was definitely one of the more far fetched theories he’d ever heard.

Especially considering that angels didn’t exist.

“There weren’t any demons contributing to my bloodline, thank you.” Dean said firmly, blatantly breaking the sweet little illusion that they were working for. 

With an irritated rumble in his chest, Lucifer cupped Dean’s face between his hands and silenced him with a firm kiss. 

Not a fun kiss. 

Just a very deliberate kiss that clearly meant ‘shut the hell up’.

Thankfully the bruising kiss was short lived and Dean was given space to take a breath and whisper, “Not a single demon.”

Sighing, Lucifer tucked his face back against Dean’s throat. Warm and close and… nice.

It felt nice.

Not that Dean would be willing to admit it.

“I’ll fight you about this later,” he whispered against the other man’s ear, wanting to make sure that Lucifer understood that Dean wasn’t letting him off the hook. 

But Lucifer didn’t agree, or disagree to a later argument. 

He didn’t have a single damn thing to say for the rest of the drive. 

Instead he stayed silently plastered to Dean’s side where he could easily hide his face from the headlights of passing cars. 

The two of them were dropped off in the same place they’d been picked up at, the front of Lucifer’s building. However, as Dean followed his tall, blonde ward, he quickly realised that they weren’t going home.

Dean looked back over his shoulder as they passed the alleyway door that they usually used. “We goin’ on a moonlit walk, Luci? You feeling romantic after that little snuggle we had in the car?”

The man hardly even gave him a sideways glance, not even a smile, not even a scowl, at the teasing. 

“That bad?” Dean kept on, shoving his hands in his pocket while he did his best to keep up with Lucifer’s longer stride. “Try and stay positive. You’re still alive, for now. Dinner was great and, um… yeah, so that’s two things you’ve got going for you.”

“You’d make a shit motivational speaker,” Lucifer said dryly, stopping on the curb as they reached the other end of the long alley. He held a hand out and almost instantly a yellow cab pulled up.

Dean pursed his lips, eyeing the car as the other man opened the back door. “Sure you don’t wanna’ walk?”

“You can get in or not. I really don’t care at this point.”

If only Dean actually had that option. 

Modern cars were easily ten times more complicated with their wiring than an elevator, at least as far as Dean knew. Which meant that this was at least ten times a worse idea than when he’d stowed his fears and ridden up to the eighth floor with Lucifer in the small, shaking, death box. 

But Dean still got in.

“Equinox Hotel on Hudson,” Lucifer said to the driver before crossing his arms over his stomach and looking out the window.

“That’s…” Dean wanted to say that that was one of the most expensive hotels in the state. Lucifer undoubtedly knew that though, so Dean sighed and shook his head, mirroring the man beside him while trying to think very gentle thoughts so as not to upset the car. 

Despite his best efforts, the check engine light came on before they reached their destination, and Dean was only too happy to get out of the cab before the damn thing started smoking or just straight up decided to explode and take them all with it.

Rushing to get under the awning and out of the rain, Dean managed to finally catch Luci’s eye. “Hey, are we dropping in to see someone, or what?”

“We’re checking in,” Lucifer said, shaking water from his hair. He pointed towards the big glass doors being held open for them by the hotel butlers, or whatever they were called, and Dean frowned harder. 

“Ok?” He finally agreed, hesitantly, looking at the smiling men and then back to Luci. 

“It’s under your name.” 

Though the words were ridiculous, Lucier waved with a hand, motioning that Dean should go ahead.

And sure. 

Why not?

Why wouldn’t there be a hotel reservation for Dean in a hotel that he’d never contacted, stepped foot in, or been within a five block radius of? It would make about as much sense as anything else.

“Do I get to yell at you about this later?” He asked over his shoulder, trying to watch Lucifer while he walked.

Lucifer only dipped his head in a nod of silent agreement. 

Dean walked through the well lit lobby, very aware of the rain water he was dripping onto the shining floors, coming just short of the front desk and the smiling girl behind the computer. 

“Checking in?” He asked in a way that was meant to sound confident, but might have missed the mark. 

“Of course, sir,” the woman didn’t miss a beat, “and what name is it under?”

“Dean Smith,” Dean said with a little more certainty, comfortable in the name that he’d been using for the past six years. 

The keyboard clacked away under the ambient music that was being gently piped into the lobby. With her perfect smile still in place, the girl looked up and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing any reservation under that name. Could it be―”

“ _ Honey _ ,” Lucifer cooed, very suddenly slipping his arms around Dean’s waist and resting a chin on his shoulder, “you made the reservation  _ before  _ the wedding,” and he laughed a little breathily.

It took every ounce of control that Dean had not to slap the man away. 

Practically giggling, Lucifer turned to the lady at the desk. “It’s under Winchester. It’s been nearly a week since we got hitched, but this big silly is still just all over the place,” he teased, patting the middle of Dean’s chest.

“Congratulations,” she said like a reflex, but her smile had softened into something a little more genuine looking before she looked back down at the computer screen. “Yep, right here. I’ve got you Mr. Winchester, or I guess Mr. Smith. I’ll go ahead and change that in our system.”

The whole time she was speaking Lucifer hadn’t let up off Dean even a fraction. Instead he was purring happily, and lightly booping a finger to the tip of Dean’s nose while he rocked them both side to side. 

It was horrifying. 

“Do you know how long you two will be staying with us?” The woman asked with a soft laugh as she watched the ‘happy newlyweds’.

Dean glanced at Lucifer, absolutely no idea how to answer her.

“Well, it’s suppose to just be two days while he has some boring meeting,” Lucifer said, apparently having this elaborate nonsense all well planned out in advance, or he was really good at winging it, “but then all my girlfriends were telling me there wasn’t even a point in me going to New York if I wasn’t going to see Hamilton on the real actual Broadway, and then I’ve  _ got _ to go shopping, and probably sightseeing, and… oh I don’t know. Can you just leave us with an open check out date?”

“Of course we can,” she assured, looking a little relieved that Lucifer had stopped listing their plans long enough to take a breath. She typed a bit more and then pulled out a physical key for them, a bit heavy looking solid relic that meant that this hotel catered to the magically inclined sorts who couldn’t deal with keycard readers. “Should I have your bags sent up to your room?”

Lucifer clicked his tongue. “Oh my god,  _ girl _ . There was this mix up at the airport with our suitcases and my sweetie here spent three hours on the phone yelling at them, and apparently they should be arriving sometime tomorrow. It’s such a mess.”

She nodded sympathetically, handing over the key. “Well, then, I’ll have your bags sent up as soon as they arrive. Please call down if there’s anything else we can do for you two tonight.”

“Can we have a bottle of red wine sent to our room?”

Dean could put up with a whole lot of nonsense, but he had to draw a line somewhere. “Whiskey… please.”

Lucifer lightly hit his chest again. “Whiskey is not romantic.”

“After that whole mess with the airport, I need something a little stronger than wine,” Dean said through a toothy grin. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Lucifer sighed dramatically. “Whisky for the gentleman, and some wine for me. Please.”

She promised them that it would be right up, before pointing out the elevators, which mercifully had a sign for the fire-stairs just a little further down.

Dean let the other man link their arms and they swished their way to the stairs. 

The moment that they reached the first landing and it was clear that no one else was in immediate ear shot, Dean pulled his arm free and demaned, “What the actual fuck is going on?”

“Yell at me when we get to the room and I’ve had a drink,” Lucifer said in a tired voice, all the smiles and giggling melting away like an early snowfall. 

“How did I have a reservation here?”

“I had someone make it for us.”

“When and why? And when?” Dean repeated, not sure if he was mad, or confused, or if this was actually somehow funny. “And why? Just  _ why _ ?”

“Drinking first,” was the only answer that Lucifer was willing to give as they made their long walk up to their room.

Room service had reached the room before them, because when Dean opened the door he saw a tray set out with a bottle of wine, two wine glasses, and a large tumbler of whiskey. 

“I am leaving such a nice review of that woman at the desk,” Lucifer half sang, lifting the bottle of wine.

Double checking that the door was well and surly locked, Dean turned on the other man and asked his questions again.

“Have you got a one track mind,” Lucifer popped open the bottle of wine and tossed the corkscrew back onto the table, before taking a long drink directly from the bottle. With his eyes closed, he lowered the bottle enough to offer the terrible explanation as to where the room had come from, “While you were out playing with Dad’s horses a few days ago I left a note with someone at the house that I still trust, asking them to set up a room just in case I needed to duck out.”

“Under my name?”

“It would be very hard for me to hide somewhere if I put my own name on the guest registry,” he took another hard swallow of wine before walking to the bed and collapsing face down, the bottle gripped in one fist that dangled off the edge of the bed.

“And… you’ve gone flat,” Dean said once he realised that Lucifer wasn’t planning to continue talking, or drinking, or rolling over. 

A soft grunt came from the bed, and Dean threw his hands up in frustration. 

If that’s how it was going to go? 

Fine.

Maybe they both could use a little extra quiet time to process their evening. Dean pulled his tie off and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing them over the back of a chair. 

He’d stayed in his fair share of rundown, budget motel rooms on family trips when him and Sammy were just kids. When he’d first gone undercover he’d even had a chance to stay in some halfway decent places, the kinds without ice machines and without carpet stains. 

Those places all looked like meth houses in comparison to his current hotel room. 

This was some rich people's vacation magazine levels of luxury. Everything was natural wood and marble, soft colors, fresh flowers, clean architectural lines, and not a single speck of dust or smudge on any of the polished surfaces.

Even if he felt like he needed to be worried about touching anything, Dean wouldn’t mind if he had to stay where they were for a couple days.

He sank down into the same chair that he was using for a coat rack and put his feet up on the table. Sipping on his glass of whiskey, he made it maybe halfway through before he heard Lucifer finally start moving around again. 

By the time Dean found the bottom of his glass, the other man was calling softly through the open bedroom door. 

“Yeah?” Dean answered reluctantly. In light of what the two of them had done back on Marlon’s desk, and then again in the car (even if it was supposedly all for good reasons and  _ not _ for fun), Dean wasn’t really sure where he and Lucifer stood anymore. 

Even if he could, for a moment, set aside the fact that he planned to find some alone time in a shower before bed where he could fully let his mind and body dwell on the memory of Lucifer teasing his ear, and the way that the man’s mouth and hand had moved so hot and eager over Dean―there was still a lot of other heavy stuff that had happened to them tonight.

Marlon’s threat had seemed genuine, which made it kind of a big fucking deal. 

One that Dean wasn’t sure how to approach.

One that Lucifer was taking about as well as anyone could be expected to take.

Which was badly.

And with wine.

And with  _ whining _ .

“Come here,” was Lucifer’s muffled summons that Dean chose to try and ignore. He only grew more insistent though, and it was obvious that the man wasn’t used to being ignored. “You are my bodyguard, so get your ass in here and guard my body.”

“You’re fine where you are,” Dean grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. “I can see the door. No one’s coming in to pop you.”

The other room grew quiet and Dean assumed that he’d successfully bought himself a little more time to stare blankly at the tasteful black and white photography on the wall across from him. He fished an ice cube out of the empty glass and popped it in his mouth.

“Dean!” 

He leaned sideways out of his chair to look at the facedown lump still on the bed where he’d left it. “You’re fine.”

“No. I’m not.” Lucifer kicked one foot pitifully. “I need you. Come here.”

Dean wavered somewhere between a smirk and a frown. “What happened to that  _ ‘I don’t want you, I didn’t ask for you, I don’t need you _ ’ song of yours?”

“Just get in here.” He kicked his foot again. “Grant this one last request of a condemned man.”

“You’re so god damned exhausting,” Dean said under his breath, pushing himself up from the chair. Noisily making his way to the foot of the bed, he hesitated for a moment then gave a firm pat to the pleasing curve of the other man’s ass. “What do ya’ need now, you big lump?”

One pale eye peered up at Dean, and Lucifer gravely mumbled into the mattress, “That’s not yours. You don’t get to touch it.”

“Sorry. Been getting a lot of mixed signals tonight.” Dean held both hands up. “You’re welcome to smack mine later to make us even.”

Lucifer narrowed that one eye before turning his face back to the mattress.

“I’m here, Luce. What do you need?”

“Put the bottle somewhere so I won’t drop it and make a mess,” his words mashed together and not exactly easy to hear. 

Sighing, Dean took the wine bottle, hefting it in one hand and noting that it felt almost half empty, which meant that while he’d been enjoying his whiskey, Lucifer had been just as busy on his side of the hotel room. The bottle was placed on a nearby nightstand, still within arms reach of Lucifer, but not too close that it risked getting knocked to the floor during the night.

“Is that it?” Dean asked, glancing longingly back at his chair.

“No,” Lucifer turned his head just enough to fix that one eye back on Dean, “now I want you to take your gun and shoot me.” One arm came up and he pointed to the back of his skull. “Right here. Use one of the pillows to muffle the sound.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that,” Dean said flatly.

“I don’t want to leave too big of a mess for the hotel to have to clean up.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean I’m not going to shoot you, you dramatic son of a bitch. What the hell?”

“Look, it’s either you or him. You’re my bodyguard, so―”

“I’m not keeping your body safe by shooting you before someone else can.” Not that Dean wouldn’t have strongly considered taking him up on the offer at an earlier date and time. But not tonight. Not like this. “Pretty sure Mike won’t be paying me if I kill you.”

“It’s fine. Just explain that I didn’t want Dad to do it. Mike’ll understand.”

Dean took a couple pacing steps, not at all sure what the right thing to say was. “I think if dear old Dad  _ really _ wanted you dead he would have shot you after dinner, or had the chauffeur do it or something. Pretty sure he was hinting that if you knock off the snooping, that he’ll knock off the murdering-you plan.”

“He knows I’m not going to take that offer.” Lucifer pulled a pillow off the bed and held it out to Dean. “So you kill me now, or he kills me in a few days.”

“You’re not allowed to have wine anymore.” Dean decided, moving the bottle to the top of the dresser.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean said in exasperation, “Well, you’re having your privileges revoked until you sober up a bit. Which means I  _ am _ the boss, for probably the rest of the night. So deal with it.”

“I don’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” 

Dean wasn’t actually sure if he meant those words. 

He didn’t think that Lucifer meant them either.

Weighing his options, it felt pretty clear that returning to that comfortable chair and his own thoughts would have to wait until later. Dean reached a hand up Lucifer’s jacket to pull the pistol from the small of his back. 

“I’m just gonna take this,” he soothed, setting the gun beside the wine before returning to the bed and sitting down on the edge. “Roll over.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re not a fun drunk,” Dean took the man by his shoulders and forcibly rolled him onto his back, “and you’re not exactly light, either.”

“I’m not drunk,” he argued softly, his eyes a little glassy and his cheeks tinged pink, as he looked up “I am in mourning for my dumb ass self. Show some respect here.”

Dean sighed again and started to work the knot in Lucifer’s tie, pulling it free and carefully folding it into thirds before setting it on the nightstand. 

“Respect does not mean stealing my tie,” Lucifer said with a pout, doing nothing whatsoever to stop Dean.

Not even when Dean began unbuttoning the man’s shirt. 

All Lucifer did in his own defence was to softly say, “We were done with this game when we got out of the car. If you wanted to undress me then you missed your chance.”

“Not playin’ for an audience here,” Dean said pointedly, gently tugging Lucifer’s shirt free of his pants before trying to pull the shirtsleeves and jacket sleeves from his left arm. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped a bit though. I’m not really used to undressing corpses.”

“You’re into weird stuff. No wonder I haven’t been able to scare you.”

Dean managed to get one arm free of the clothing, and he took a small break to sigh dramatically. “I’m getting your clothes out of the way so I can check your fucking stitches, and then you need a shower. I can smell you, and not in a fun way. In a nervous sweat kinda way.”

“I don’t get nervous,” Lucifer said in disgust, sitting up just enough to help Dean pull free the other half of his shirt and jacket.

“If it’s not nerves then you need to see a doctor or something, man. Your leg was bouncing all during dinner, and you just about chewed your whole damn thumbnail off on the ride out there.”

Wherever that line of thought was going got sidetracked as Dean looked at the mess of a man laid out beside him. The dark bruising that had painfully covered most of Lucifer’s chest the night they’d first met had started to fade into splotches of yellows and greens. Not quite able to help himself, Dean reached out and ran a finger along the lower curve of Lucifer’s ribs, just a touch north of the large band aid that had at some point replaced the gauze he’d taped on nights before.

The little dip between Lucifer’s ribs, right below the flat plane of his sternum, was the perfect resting place of Dean’s thumb, his other fingers fluttering cautiously over some of the worst of the bruises. 

“You look awful,” Dean made himself say, forcibly pulling his hand back. “Must have been one hell of a fight.” He busied himself with peeling back the bandaid and not making eye contact with the other man. 

“It was a hell of a fight. But he’s dead and I’m not, so… it could have been worse.”

“Optimistic way to look at it I guess?” Dean nodded along, turning on the bedside lamp to better see the bullet hole. 

“His name was Marcus,” Lucifer put an arm over his eyes and partially turned his face away from the light. “He started working for my building a couple weeks ago. Maintenance and stuff. I invited him up a few times for drinks and… other things. I assumed it was for the ‘other things’ that put him in my apartment when I came home. Bastard made out with me before shooting me in the stomach.”

Dean made a sympathetic sound.

“You met him,” Lucifer snorted softly, “he was the dead guy in the room the night that Michael gave you to me.”

It was tempting to argue that Dean hadn’t been ‘given’ to Lucifer.

Instead he noted, “Not really surprising that you’ve got trust issues, I guess.”

Lucifer hummed in agreement. “And for all I know, you’re just my third hitman, biding your time, waiting for me to go too far.”

“Not enough money in the world to get me to work for your dad.”

“I’d like to believe that.” A hint of a smile pulled up the corners of Lucifer’s mouth.

The entrance wound and the little stitches had been checked, but Dean hadn’t made any move to roll Lucifer over and check the other side. He didn’t mind just sitting there and talking. He also didn’t mind that the other man hadn’t pointed out the way that Dean was resting his hands on both of Lucifer’s hips. 

“How do I look, doc?” 

Dean blinked, realising he’d been a little too quiet for a little too long. He racked his brain, trying to remember what they’d been talking about, which resulted in a simple uncertain sound and a shrug that didn’t mean anything.

Lucifer lifted his arm a few inches, peering out at Dean from the shadows. “Am I ok to go shower?”

“I, um,” Dean licked his lips and laughed self consciously, “not really an expert or anything. I’ve just had my fair share of stitches over the years. Don’t soak ‘em―like, don’t hop in the bath or anything―and you should be ok.”

“You do know that this isn’t my first gunshot wound, don’t you?”

“I figured.” He finally, slowly, pulled his hands back, fingers dragging lightly over Lucifer’s sides before letting him go. 

The man was watching him silently, his one arm still held barely high enough that Dean could see the glint of his eyes. 

“But you’re still going to fuss over me?” Lucifer asked softly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’m bodyguarding. It’s my job.” 

The long and amused look that Lucifer gave him said that maybe Dean was overstepping his job at this point. 

He shrugged in his own defence.

Slowly, and with only a small grunt of pain, Lucifer sat up and swung his long legs off the side of the bed, before unsteadily getting to his feet. Just for a moment, he pressed a hand to his side, which wasn’t off base at all considering there was a hole going all the way through the man. It caught Dean’s attention, though, because as far as he could remember it was the first time the other man had acknowledged that the injury actually hurt.

The first night they’d been together Lucifer had been bleeding and seeing to his own injury with hardly more indication at how much it must hurt other than the angry line between his eyebrows. 

Not even thinking about it, Dean reached out to him, asking, “You alright?”

Lucifer looked up, still holding his side. “I’m fine. Just stood up too fast.”

Dean frowned, not convinced. 

Which pulled a strange and soft smile out of the other man. Lucifer looked away, schooling his face back to something natural before turning back to Dean. “Am I trusted enough to shower on my own, or are you going to need to come supervise me?”

“You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it on your own.”

Lucifer chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked off to the bathroom, mumbling just barely loud enough to hear, “That’s a shame.”

It left Dean alone on the edge of the bed, wondering if he’d imagined the little comment, or if that had been an honest (but small) note of disappointment from the other man.

If it  _ had  _ been a real offer to join Lucifer in the shower, then Dean was an idiot.

And if it hadn’t been, then Dean was just a thirsty idiot, who clearly had started to lose focus on the reason that he was here.

A feeling of exhaustion suddenly caught up to him and Dean sighed and rubbed his face, deciding it was probably best to call it a night, but not before pouring himself a glass of the wine that he’d confiscated from Lucifer. 

Even though wine would never be his first choice of drink in any scenario, Dean still made a decent dent in the glass he’d poured before noticing he was smiling. 

No reason.

He was just grinning into his glass, because clearly with what he’d had during dinner, the whisky, and then the generous glass of wine he was working on, he’d started to reach his limit.

Years ago, back in Texas, after football games, or just during weekends at the lake with friends, Dean had let himself get sloppy drunk. Those were happy, if not also very hazy, distant memories though.

Teenage Dean had been allowed to be rebellious and careless and make mistakes.

Adult Dean didn’t get those options.

He put aside the glass of wine, calmly reminding himself that the mob was not known to be particularly forgiving, or fond of FBI agents, and he really couldn’t afford some asinine drunken misplaced words. 

Not to mention that Lucifer had some issues with trusting people, and regardless of any accidental flirting that they’d started to engage in, the man probably wouldn’t bat an eye at pulling the trigger on Dean if he suddenly suspected that something was amiss. 

So, sober Dean it was.

Or at least as sober as he could talk himself into becoming between those unpleasant thoughts, and the bathroom door opening. 

The sight of Lucifer making his way straight towards the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a towel around his shoulder, did bring a certain amount of focus to Dean’s mind.

“Damn,” the word escaped Dean’s mouth and he did his best to follow it up with a, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen legs that white before.”

“Shut up,” Lucifer said without much feeling, padding up to the foot of the bed before face-planting back into it like he had when they first checked into the hotel room.

“And you’re flat again,” Dean observed for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

Lucifer didn’t say anything, and after a few minutes Dean wondered if the guy had simply fallen asleep. 

An illusion that was shattered with the muffled statement of, “I think he’d really do it.”

There weren't all that many people that Lucifer could be talking about.

And as nice as it would be for Dean to assure the man that ‘no, of course your dad wouldn’t actually kill you’, that wasn’t something that Dean could say with any certainty at all. So, instead of making promises that Marlon Williams (who was rumored to be behind somewhere between a dozen to fifty deaths over the past decade) wouldn’t ever consider actually killing one of his own kids, Dean reached over and smoothed a hand down Lucifer’s back.

“I really wanted it to be one of my brothers or sisters.” Sighing, Lucifer arched his back, his shoulder blades making sharp edges that slid beneath the pale bruised skin. “It had to be someone in my family messing up my magic and reselling it for cheap. But if it was a sibling then I could have just taken it to Dad and he would have sorted it out.”

“Instead you’re the one getting sorted out?” 

Lucifer grunted.

Hiding a smile, Dean pulled himself closer, gently digging his thumbs in on either side of the man’s spine, finding a knot in the muscles to slowly work out. 

After a deep sigh and an appreciative sound, Lucifer continued, “Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll do it himself instead of hiring someone.”

“That would make it better… how?”

“He’d probably shoot me through the heart like he did to my mom. That way I can have an open casket funeral.”

Dean rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt himself. “These drunk mood swings of yours are makin’ me dizzy, Luci. Maybe let’s put a pin in this until tomorrow and you try and get some sleep.”

Lucifer turned his face to one side, peering upward. “You’re not sleeping in that.”

It was nice to hear something so ‘normal’ out of the man, and Dean grinned. “Not planning on sleeping, Boss. I’m just gonna go sit in that chair by the door and rest my eyes for a bit.”

“You are not.”

“Part of the bodyguard job description.”

Lucifer rolled onto his side, reached out and hooked an arm possessively around Dean’s waist, saying, “Just sleep here between me and the door.”

Dean told himself it was only because Lucifer looked incredibly pitiful in that moment, and that under other circumstances he would have argued and slept somewhere else―this of course was blatantly ignoring the fact that he’d slept curled around Lucifer for two nights in a row already. 

“Alright, alright,” Dean peeled the other man’s arm from around him, handing it back. Pretending he was disappointed in them both, he started to shrug out of his shoulder holster.

With a pleased little smile, Lucifer settled back in, tucking his arms against his sides. “And go hang our suits up beside the door. Then call the front desk and have them pick up the suits and get them cleaned so we have something to wear tomorrow.”

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, looking down at Lucifer. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I’m not wearing dirty clothes tomorrow,” he said with some of his usual confidence creeping back in. “Just tell them to put it on your tab. It’s fine.”

“Just in case it wasn’t clear, but I can’t afford a place like this. So, that’s gonna be a real bitch of a problem when they come to collect my ‘tab’.”

“Mike pays you.”

Dean glanced around the room, uncertain if he and Lucifer were seeing the same space. “Bodyguarding doesn’t actually pay as well as you seem to think it should.” He chuckled, setting his guns on the nightstand beside the bed. “No one gets into this business for the money.”

Lucifer rolled back onto his side, looking up at Dean. “Why did you get into this business?”

Clearly, Dean had stepped into that question for which he didn’t actually have a good answer. He busied himself with kicking off his shoes. “Um, well… because Benny told me to go with Mike.”

“Benny is very charismatic when he wants to be, but you’re shit at following orders,” Lucifer pointed out, then made a disgusted sound as Dean started to lay down beside him. “I’m serious about the suits. I  _ need _ something clean to wear tomorrow, and you’re absolutely not sleeping next to me like that. You’ll make the sheets dirty.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance to pack my PJs before we left on this super fun adventure. So it’s this or nothin’, Luci.”

The threat seemed to catch Lucifer off guard. Clearly the man was still a bit sauced and it hadn’t dawned on him in its entirety exactly what he was asking. He brought one hand up to his mouth, chewing on whatever remained of his poor thumbnail, before finally giving the tiniest shrug of one shoulder. “Alright.”

“ _ Alright _ ?”

“I’ve had worse things happen to me,” he said flippantly, curling back up with his pillow. “Don’t put my tie with the suit. I don’t want it getting lost… and don’t keep your socks on. I don’t care if it's cold in here. I’m not sleeping next to a naked man in socks. I have some pride.”

A fact that Dean would love to debate, considering the man was damn near begging him to come to bed and be the big spoon.

But, Dean was also tired, and to be quite honest, being the big spoon sounded kind of nice after a stressful evening. 

He got off the bed, going to collect the other man’s suit from the bathroom, where it was neatly folded on the counter’s edge. The rich fabric was soft under his fingertips as he carefully hung the clothing on one of the hangers from the closet, and Dean sighed softly as he realised that his own suit really was crap in comparison. He’d never admit it to Lucifer, but he was starting to look forward to the upgrade. 

With one suit hung up and ready to go out to the cleaners, he looked down at himself and hesitated.

“Hey, Luci,” he called from the front room, fiddling with the buttons on his sleeves, and realising that there wasn’t a correct way to ask if this was going to lead to sex tonight. If it did, then it did, and he wasn’t positive that he’d instantly say no to the offer. 

Talking about it beforehand would just make it weird though. 

“I’m not your butler,” he abandoned his initial question in trade for some regular and easy banter. “There’s a landline phone next to the bed. Call the front desk for your own damn laundry pickup.”

There was an awful lot of grumbling, but Lucifer made the call, and Dean used the moment of distraction to get his own suit hung up and placed on the coat hook outside the door. It left him standing in the seating area in only his boxers and trying to pull some of that cocky confidence of his over himself like a bullet proof vest.

If Lucifer didn’t want a dirty suit in his bed, then he was going to get a mostly naked Dean, which meant that on some very basic level, Lucifer wanted a Dean naked in his bed. 

Which meant that, even if it was just to be a buffer between Luci and any would be thugs breaking in during the night, he  _ needed  _ something from Dean. 

Which meant that Dean had the upper hand. 

Turning off the lights as he moved through the hotel room, Dean reached the bed and nudged Lucifer until there was space enough for him to fit. Before his head even hit the pillow there were arms curling around Dean’s middle, pulling him close, their bodies coming flush together, skin against skin, from their heads to their heels and everything in between, with only a bit of fabric between them.

It made Dean’s toes curl and he let out a measured breath as Lucifer’s face tucked in against his throat, and one of the man’s knees pressed between his.

“Put your arm around me, you jackass,” Lucifer grumbled against Dean’s pulse.

Grateful for the dark that hid his smile, Dean shifted and managed to get both arms around the man who apparently planned to use him as a bed, despite the perfectly good mattress beneath them. “You are the bossiest cuddler, I swear to god.”

“Bite me.”

“Tempting,” Dean half sang, pulling the blankets around them, even though Lucifer was laying on top of him and there wasn’t much likelihood of getting cold. “I’m tired, babe. Maybe in the morning.”

“Babe?” Lucifer lifted his head. “ _ Babe _ ?”

“Well I can’t call you ‘sweetie’ and keep a straight face, so options on pet names are limited.”

“So limited that there are none.” Lucifer caught Dean by the jaw, “I’m your boss. You can call me Sir.”

“Aha, but you told me not to call you Sir.”

“Not in public. You say it... weird.”

“But in private? You want me to call you ‘Sir’,  _ Sir _ ?”

Lucifer cringed, pulling back and frowning an awful lot before resting his cheek against Dean’s shoulder. His hand came up to rest in the center of Dean’s chest, his fingers tracing strange patterns. “I want you to keep me safe. That’s it. That’s all I want. Preferably without any pet names, or fancy titles.”

“ _ Fancy _ ,” Dean grinned, enjoying the idea that ‘Sir’ could be considered fancy. “Alright, babe,” he rested his hand over Lucifer’s, threading their fingers together, “whatever you want.”

“Oh,” he chuckled angrily, his breath hot against Dean’s bare skin, “you make me want to do violent things.” 

Dean wasn’t strong enough to let that go. Teasing, he whispered, “I’m tired, babe. Maybe in the morning.”

Lucifer snapped his teeth at the underside of Dean’s jaw, a sudden sharp bite that might actually leave a mark come morning. “Go the fuck to sleep.” 

The whisper drew goosebumps all up and down Dean’s body.

“Or don’t,” Lucifer added, his lips brushing against the bite mark in something very almost like a kiss. “Just shut up. I need to sleep… or lay here quietly and think of all the different ways I might die by the end of the week.”

It might have been the one glass of wine too many, or the way that somewhere deep down Dean was a romantic despite the fact that he and Lucifer didn’t have anything close to that kind of relationship. Either way, he didn’t think things fully through before hooking a knuckle under the man’s chin and tipping his face up to kiss him softly and whisper, “Get some sleep, Boss. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Lucifer’s eyes were bright and owl-like in the dark and Dean quickly lost his gentle smile as he realised just why he was being stared at.

Snorting softly, he tried to shrug it off. “Got a little caught up in the moment. Can’t blame me… but seriously. Get some sleep. You look awful.”

“ _ You _ look awful,” Lucifer sniped back, his hand leaving Dean’s chest to trail one finger’s tip along his lower lip, “and if you ever kiss me like that again I’ll throw you out the nearest window.”

“Ooh, super scary,” Dean whispered fearfully before cracking a smile. “I’ll make sure I kiss you differently next time.” 

Lucifer apparently had had his fill of teasing for the night, and he sucker punched Dean directly in the stomach.

Thankfully they were both lying down and the man’s leverage was all kinds of wrong, so instead of getting the wind knocked out of him he only coughed weakly into his pillow, groaning and laughing in pain. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Fuck. Yeah. Ok. I maybe deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot more than that,” Lucifer pointed out, taking Dean by the chin and turning him from the pillow to face him. He stroked Dean’s jaw like you would an animal, “You’re lucky I’m tired.”

“Yeah,” Dean winced, still chuckling softly, “feelin’ super lucky right now because you punch like a little bitch―”

The second punch, though expected, hit a hell of a lot harder. Hard enough that it knocked the laughter right out of Dean and he curled on his side, weezing softly.

With a smug sound, Lucifer curled against Dean’s back, spooning him easily and comfortably. At least, comfortable for himself. Dean was a different story, hugging his midsection and fighting to draw a deep enough breath.

Despite how awful a good gut punch felt, Dean had to admit that he’d earned it, and it was kind of funny, right up until Lucifer slid a warm, flat palm over Dean’s lower stomach. Fingertips trailed over the edge of his boxers, skimming the line of hair up to his belly button. 

Finding himself breathless for whole new reasons, Dean arched his back, bowing into the touch without even thinking, his belly filling with heat.

Lucifer’s hand left too soon though, and with it all the pain that went with Dean’s aching guts. It took a solid few seconds for him to notice that he didn’t hurt anymore, because he was half hard and that took up nearly all his brain function for longer than he’d like to admit.

“I didn’t have to heal you,” Lucifer whispered against the back of Dean’s neck, “I just didn’t want to listen to you whining the rest of the night.”

Which, sure, super nice of Lucifer to put a magical bandaid on the injury he’d caused, like the condescending asshole that he was. Dean took his time not showing gratitude, but instead talking himself out of guiding Lucifer’s hand back downward, or grinding back into the other man to see if he was also enjoying their change of positions. 

If Lucifer wanted Dean right then, then he could have him. 

But the man had settled into the mattress, pressing his forehead into the back of Dean’s neck and hugging him around the ribs, hand back over Dean’s heart where it seemed to belong.

“You, um,” Dean closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, “I thought you didn’t heal little injuries because it makes things…”

“Hard?”

Dean’s laughter was clearly unhinged and there was no hope at hiding it.

Lucifer’s soft explanation was a bit sobering, however. “I figure I’ll be dead in a few days. Why do I need to worry about leaving bits of myself behind? It won’t be enough to make a difference to either of us.”

“It’s your optimism through all this that I really admire,” Dean drawled, slowly raising a hand and holding it over Lucifer’s. “Glad that you’re not letting your Dad’s ultimatum of ‘mind you own business or get buried’ get you down. Because there’s a clear and easy solution of just stepping the hell back from whatever you stumbled into, and continuing on to live a happy and full life.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s not.” He squeezed himself against Dean’s back, tucking his knees against Dean’s legs until the two of them were notched together like matched puzzle pieces. “Can I just go to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Dean felt nearly guilty for keeping the man awake for so long after he’d already begged to go to sleep. “You’re safe, Luci. Get some sleep.”

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovelies <3  
> have a chapter with no smoochies and instead, family members yelling at each other... it's somehow fitting because it's the holidays irl?  
> oof. I was determined to get an update for a good distraction in face of this godawful year and all those who are having stupid family issues this thanksgiving....
> 
> So, probably expect another update close behind this one. I need more sassy boys and laughing :[

Dean’s words seemed to work like magic and within minutes the man behind him was snoring away like any other miserable drunk after a miserable night. 

Sleep came quickly for Dean too, but not nearly as perfect or easy. He found himself stirring awake with each and every distant clap of thunder from the passing storm, and again when someone from housekeeping stalled outside their room and took away their suits to be cleaned, and once more in the late hours of the morning when the door cracked open, letting in a long sliver of light from the outside hall.

If it was someone returning the suits they would have knocked, and if it was someone coming in to try and kill Luci then they weren’t at all worried about getting into the room undetected. 

Not really knowing what was going on, Dean palmed his gun and leveled it at the small figure who was unapologetically turning on the light and tossing down a suitcase. The fact that the woman didn’t seem armed or even remotely menacing was what kept Dean’s finger off the trigger. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, fighting back a yawn and trying to appear as intimidating as a half asleep, and half naked man in bed could. 

She turned towards the bedroom, wavy brown hair falling loose around her shoulders and sweet heart shaped face. Her eyes flitted from the gun, to the blankets pooling in Dean’s lap, then up to his face. “Well, you’re not Lu.”

Dean tipped his head towards the lump beside him, keeping his gaze fixed on the woman.

“It’s almost ten, Lu,” she raised her voice. “Get your ass up. I don’t have all morning to get caught up on the juicy gossip before I’ve got to get back to work.”

Beside Dean, Lucifer stirred, snaking an arm over Dean’s nearest thigh and mumbling a half hearted, “I’m up.”

“Up  _ and _ dressed,” the woman said, eyeing the two men with an amused, but irritated smile. “I brought you your suitcase, so put some pants on because I’m not talking to you while you’re naked.”

Cradling his head in one hand, Lucifer sat up, his other hand still resting curled against Dean’s inner thigh.

“Hangover?” Dean asked, still watching the woman who had perched herself on the arm of one of the chairs and was bouncing a pack of Marlboros on one knee. 

The man beside him grunted in agreement, slowly looking around the room with bloodshot eyes, lingering on Dean long enough to make it awkward.

Though he did his best not to squirm under the scrutiny, Dean found it difficult to keep his gun steady as his leg was given a light squeeze.

“You can put the gun down,” Lucifer said, yawning against his shoulder. “She’s harmless.”

The woman snorted loudly, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“Dean, this’s my cousin Meg,” Lucifer pointed loosely in the direction of the feminine laughter, “Meg― bodyguard Dean.”

“ _ Bodyguard _ .” Her lip curled up in a toothy smile. “Is that what they’re calling ‘em these days?”

Whereas Dean didn’t care for the insinuation, he had to admit that from Meg’s point of view it must look pretty cut and dry. Two men sharing a bed, no clothes to be seen. Clearly there was something other than ‘body guarding’ going on. 

He set aside his gun, but didn’t put it back in its holster, pushing off the blankets and getting to his feet. 

Meg let out a wolf whistle, and Dean smiled in spite of himself. 

It was nice to be appreciated. 

It was less nice to remember that he’d sent away his only clothes the night before, because heaven forbid he wear the same outfit two days in a row without washing it. 

Walking as confidently as he could while only wearing his boxers, Dean went to the door, peering out into the hall to see that, no, their suits were not back from the cleaners yet.

“Lulu, no offence,” Meg teased softly, “but your taste in boy-toys sure has taken an unexpected turn recently.” 

Dean turned back around with a grin, gleefully repeating, “ _ Lulu _ ?”

“Don’t start with me. Either of you. It’s too early.” Lucifer hadn’t moved from the edge of the bed, still rubbing his head and taking his sweet time waking up. “And he’s all boy, no toy.”

“I can see that,” Meg leered in a teasing way.

“Don’t,” Lucifer grumbled, slowly getting to his feet. “He’s not for sharing. Pretend he’s not here.”

Meg rolled her eyes, shooting a small smile Dean’s way. “He’s not good at hangovers.”

“I can see that,” Dean whispered back, watching Lucifer blearily make his way across the room to the suitcase that the woman had brought. Even if the man had the whitest legs that Dean had ever seen, he still didn’t mind seeing them. It must have been all the stairs to and from Lucifer’s eighth floor apartment that gave the man such strong looking legs, legs that Dean wouldn’t mind having up over his shoulders.

He shook himself, pointedly looking away as Lucifer took the bag and vanished into the bathroom to get dressed. 

Meg asked in an amused tone, “Thirsty?”

“Is it that obvious?” Dean asked with an awkward chuckle.

She laughed and glanced at the closed bathroom door. “I was talking about ordering an extra cup of coffee for you when I call room service…”

Dean pushed his hands through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, coffee would be good.”

She moved through the room like it was her own, picking up the landline phone, presumably to call for breakfast, but she stopped and looked over at Dean almost sympathetically. “Don’t get your hopes up, hon. He’s got a type, but it’s not you.”

He shrugged nonchalant, blowing off her comment, really wishing he had something to wear. 

“My sweet baby cousin doesn’t go for thugs, or for the hired help. He’s got a thing for badges and uniforms and the not sexy kinds of handcuffs… know what I mean?”

Dean did. 

He got it, even if it was way over sharing and none of his business. Whatever got Luci hot and bothered was Luci’s own problem. 

Meg ordered breakfast for three and barely had the receiver back in the cradle before Dean was asking, “All the Williams I’ve met have been brothers and sisters. I didn’t know that the family tree included cousins too.” Yes, he was needling for information, but it gave him something to focus on other than the fact that he still had no pants.

The woman grimaced and pointedly said, “Fuck the Williams.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“My dad and Lu’s mom were brother and sister. I’m not involved with his side of the family,” she took the still unlit cigarett from the corner of her mouth and used it to point, unnunciating her words, “Seriously, fuck those guys. Especially Marlon.”

“Not a fan?”

“No. He took Lu and Cas, my perfectly destructive, reckless, halfbreed cousins, and he broke them like they were a pair of horses.” She put the cigarette back between her lips and started patting her pockets, pulling out a lighter. “He washed the blood off ‘em, stuffed them in suits, and filled their heads with rules and expectations to the point that Lu won’t even step outside unless he’s all buttoned up.” She lit the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke towards the bathroom door. “Just watch, hangover or not, he’ll come back out fully dressed, compleet with that stick right back up his ass.” 

With perfect timing, Lucifer opened the bathroom door, but he wasn’t wearing a suit. He was very notably still only in his boxers. 

“That isn’t my bag.” He gestured behind him to the suitcase sitting open on the bathroom counter.

“It’s the only one I saw in the apartment,” Meg said with a shrug, clearly not all that upset about the mix up. 

Dean took a small step closer to the bathroom, suddenly feeling a wave of excitement. “That’s  _ my _ bag.”

“I noticed,” Lucifer sounded utterly disgusted.

But Dean wasn’t going to waste his breath defending his wardrobe. He moved around the other man, nudging him out of the way, out of the bathroom, and then closed the door between them. Real clothes. Dean got to wear real clothes and he wouldn't have to change back into a suit until it came back from the cleaners. 

Just like that and his questionable morning was looking up. 

Dressing in his favorite t-shirt and flannel, and in his most comfortable jeans, Dean returned to his lousy babysitting job. 

“No,” Lucifer was saying with one of his deep pouts, arms folded over his stomach as he sat tucked grumpily into the corner of the sofa, “I’m waiting for my suit to come back from the cleaners.”

“Because clearly you can’t just eat breakfast in your underoos like when we were kids.” Meg sighed, her cigarette already burned nearly down to the filter. She glanced Dean’s way and looked almost hopeful. “You’d lend him something to wear, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean chuckled at the idea. “You’re welcome to getting in my pants any time. My shirts too.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “I’m waiting for my suit to come back.”

“The food isn’t going to care if you have pants on or not,” Meg grumbled, putting her cigarette out on the marble topped side table. 

“I will care,” Lucifer said flatly.

Meg turned away from him with a groan, fixing herself on Dean. “Be grateful you're not his type. He’s more high maintenance than any girl I’ve ever dated.”

“Seeing as you’ve dated pretty much every girl between New Mexico and New York, I’m going to take offence at that,” Lucifer sneered.

His cousin easily ignored him though, smiling at Dean. “So, who’s trying to kill Lu this time?

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Lucifer raised his voice, “and don’t talk to him about business. He’s just the help.”

“Ignore the name calling,” she advised in a stage-whisper. “He wouldn't keep you around if he didn’t trust you. He just doesn’t want me to realise you’re important. Makes him feel weak to not be one hundred percent independent one hundred percent of the time.”

“Meg,” Lucifer stretched out one long leg, kicking in the woman’s direction, “don’t you have somewhere to be? Like back at my apartment, getting my bag so I have a proper change of clothes?”

She turned to him, wearing a look of annoyance to rival his own. “You needed a place to crash? I got you a place. You needed it all done on the downlow, off the books? I got that covered too. But I’m not a delivery man. One trip up to that mess of an apartment. That's all you get out of me. Not my problem if you left out the wrong suitcase.” Nodding, as if she’d made her point clear, Meg turned back to Dean. “So! Spill the beans, who’s trying to kill my sweet baby cousin this time?”

_ Sweet _ ?

Dean wasn’t so sure that was the word he’d choose to describe the pouting, mostly nude man on the corner of the couch. 

He also wasn’t sure why he was the one having this conversation with Meg, aside from the fact that his wine-hangover had clearly made Lucifer a little more prickly than normal. 

“Well, uh,” Dean scratched at a cheek, glancing at the other two people. 

“It’s Dad,” Lucifer said without emotion. “So, if I’m not dead by next week, we can talk about it then. For now though, can we all just shut up until the food gets here?”

They could, and they did, but once the food arrived Lucifer was grumbling and getting to his feet to angrily grab up Dean’s suitcase and take it into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Meg rolled her eyes, and ate her fair share of the food, complaining how Lucifer was the only person she’d ever known who didn’t know how to eat unless he was all the way buttoned up. 

Ten minutes later the bedroom door was still closed. Meg got up, nodding to Dean. “Tell him I’ll come bother him next week… hopefully he’ll be dressed by then, but I’m not holding my breath.” 

Dean watched her go, then split up the remainder of the food, half for him, half for Lu. Nearly another ten minutes and Dean was done with his food, and all that was left behind was for Lucifer, and it was quite cold.

“You alright in there, boss?” Dean looked at the door, expectant. “You get lost?”

The door opened slowly in answer and Lucifer finally emerged, barefoot, wearing ratty jeans and a Black Sabbath tee. 

Lucifer carried Dean’s clothes well, somehow managing not to look like he’d dressed down, instead keeping his chin high as he took back his seat in the corner of the couch and pulled the breakfast tray towards himself. There was plenty of that usual cocky confidence in the way he held his shoulders square and his face neutral as he stirred milk into his coffee.

But Dean could see the slight bounce to Lucifer’s leg and the way that the man kept smoothing his fingers over the loose threads of the rip over his left knee. 

Apparently ‘sleeping on it’ hadn’t done much for Lu’s mood, not that anyone had ever suggested a good night’s sleep as a cure for familial murder plots. 

What did help though was obnoxious distractions, and those were Dean’s specialties.

“Stop hoggin’ all the milk,  _ Lulu _ ,” he dawled, leaving his chair to sit beside Lucifer and steal the little miniature milk pitcher.

“‘Luci’ is better.”

“Stop hoggin’ all the milk, Luci... sir.” Dean corrected himself.

Lucifer looked at him out the corner of his eye. 

Dean carefully dumped most of the milk into the remainder of his coffee even though he never drank it that way. He set the pitcher aside and looked long and hard at Lucifer before letting out an irritated sigh. “You’re not wearing that today, are you?”

Lucifer paused, his lukewarm coffee halfway to his mouth. 

“Dark washed jeans with a black shirt, Luci? Where’s the color? Where’s the statement? The pizzaz?  _ Hmm _ ? You can’t expect me to be seen in public with you dressed like that. I think I’ve got a nice blue flannel that will help bring out your eyes.”

“A flannel?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow, the smallest smile curving the corners of his mouth. “Maybe you havn’t noticed, but I’m not a lumberjack, a lesbian, or a member of a Seattle grunge band, so I’ll be passing on the flannel.”

“At least let me change your shirt before we go out,” Dean soothed, trying very hard not to smile back. “With your winter complexion that shirt isn’t doing you any favors.”

They didn’t actually have to go outside, at least not as far as Dean was concerned. With as shaken as Lucifer clearly was, laying low in the ritzy hotel room for a couple days sounded kind of perfect.

Lucifer had other ideas, however. 

Ignoring the repeatedly offered flannel, he stole Dean’s heavy leather jacket and left for the outside world as soon as he finished his coffee.

“We can wait for the suits to come back from the cleaner,” Dean pointed out, pulling his flannel tight around himself to fight off the sharp, cold wind that they seemed to be walking directly into no matter what direction they turned down the street.

“The longer I’ve got to wait, the more of my nerve I’m gonna lose,” Lucifer called over his shoulder.

“Nerves for  _ what _ , Lu?” Dean kept up his steady pace beside the other man. “Not to be pushy, but I was never a big fan of going blindly into things.”

“I’ve just got to talk to Mike.”

“About last night?”

Lucifer nodded, jamming his hands down into the jacket pockets. With a small frown he pulled one hand back out, opening his palm to look at a switchblade knife, then to look disapprovingly at Dean, before putting the knife back. “Yeah. Mike’ll know what to do.”

The club was a long walk and a short taxi ride from the hotel. They didn’t make the trip directly, for probably the same reasons that they’d stayed the night away from the apartment. Lucifer was trying to keep himself safe, which sort of flew in the face of going to a club owned by the Williams’ family―but who was Dean to question these things? 

All he could do was follow. 

Clearly the plan to lay low was more effective than he’d initially thought, because the doorman at The BlackRabbit didn’t immediately recognise Lucifer.

“We’re closed,” the mountain of a man said, hardly giving them a glance as they came down the stairs.

“I know you’re closed. It’s the only time I can get in to see Mike,” Lucifer said with a hint of irritation in his tone.

Recognition flashed in the bouncer’s eyes and he quickly stepped aside, ducking his head and muttering his apologies as Lucifer brushed past and into the empty club.

The night that he’d been given to Lucifer was the only time that Dean had been able to pass from the main room into the catacomb of hallways and offices beyond the dancefloor and bar. As he followed Lucifer, Dean began to have his suspicions that this sub-basement possibly sprawled the whole city block. 

“Does…” Dean frowned down yet another identical, interchangeable hallway, “does your brother live down here like some kind of moleman?”

That coaxed a small smile out of Lucifer. “No. He just has his office down here, like some kind of businessman-moleman. All the basements for all the buildings on this block are connected. Going down through the club is just the most direct way to get to Mike.”

There wasn’t anything ‘direct’ about the path, as far as Dean was concerned, and looking back over his shoulder he got the sinking feeling that he could only too easily get himself lost down in the twisting halls. 

They took a short flight of stairs up, went through a heavy door with a handle only on their side, then through a glass door and into what looked like the lobby of some kind of office complex. Dean just shook his head and kept on Lucifer’s heels, not even trying to unravel his mental map and figure out just where the hell they were. 

Neither Lucifer or Dean looked like they belonged among the well dressed business types shuffling around with their briefcases and cell phones, and the two men certainly earned a few sideways glances, but no one stopped them. 

They found Michael in a back office, one with wide windows and a lot of pleasant natural light. He looked up from a spill of paperwork as the door opened, doing a slight double take when he saw who’d let themselves in without even knocking. 

“Don’t you look...” Mike lightly tapped his pen on the desk, “ _ comfortable _ today.”

“It’s Dad,” Lucifer said the moment the door swung closed on their heels, not missing a beat. “He said the last two hits on me were just warning shots. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Mike leaned back in his seat, the wheels turning somewhere behind his eyes, his face giving nothing away as he processed his brother’s stunning accusation.

Any and all of Lucifer’s patience over this had already been used up, however, and he began to pace the office like a cornered animal. 

It was an uncomfortable shift for Dean to watch, seeing all of Lucifer’s well built walls instantly crumble as anxiety bled out of every sharp movement and shift. This wasn’t a bouncing leg that could be hid beneath a table. 

Lucifer was scared, and it sent Dean’s protective streak through the roof.

“Stop looking at the damn wall and tell me how I get out of this!” Lucifer demanded, pushing his hands through his hair and cupping the back of his neck, his arms tucked tight against his body.

Michael carefully slid the cap back onto his fountain pen, setting it neatly in line with the edge of his desk blotter. He looked up at Lucifer, the smallest touch of warm concern in the downward tilt of his eyebrows. “Warning shots? He used those words?”

“He said ‘ _ warning shots _ ’. He also said that the next guy wouldn't be paid to miss. Apparently Dad expects me to be smart enough to mind my own business though,” Lucifer laughed tightly, “so in theory I should be fine?”

“Well,” Michael stretched a hand out like he was reaching for the easy solution to this problem.

“I can’t just turn my head on this one, Mike. This had my name on it. Everyone knows that I’m the only one of us that can pull off half of these custom jobs―”

“And Castiel,” Michael butted in softly.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, his aggressive pacing slowing. “ _ And _ Cas. But he left. So it’s me. It’s my signature on this. It’s my name on this magic going out, and people are dying. This is wrong. I can’t just ‘mind my own business’. This has to stop or I’m out. I’ll leave.”

“How many times have you threatened to walk out now?”

“I’ll do it this time. I swear to god, I’ll leave.”

Michael sighed, rubbing one of his temples. “Maybe this holy martyr speech works better in your own head, Lu… but you kill people in exchange for money. You got lucky and inherited Dad’s powers, and your mom’s. It’s your right to use those heavenly and hellish powers as you see fit, but as soon as you agreed to do it for cash you traded in any right to stand on a soap box and talk about right and wrong.”

Which brought Lucifer to a dead stop and he turned on his heels to face his brother. “I’m not out here turning tricks for the highest bidder. If I agree to smite someone it’s because they fuckin’ deserve to be dead.”

Mike rolled his eyes, and from Dean’s vantage point beside the door he could see just how easily that little movement flipped a switch in Lucifer. 

The hitch of fear in his voice fled in a wave of hot anger, “Anything else I do is only meant to help. I never signed up to get people hooked on adderall, or taking bad LSD trips, and I sure as hell didn’t agree to be part of anything that’s sending innocent idiots to the cemetery. Drugs, bad ones, are out there disguised as magic, disguised as real blessing from a real fucking angel, and people are dying.” 

“It’s only been a few people, Lu, and I’m sure it was all an accident,” Michael said in a calming tone, gently lowering his hands like he was hoping to push down his brother’s fury. “It’s a new operation. There’s always bound to be a few hiccoughs.”

“Hiccoughs? These aren’t  _ hiccoughs _ . These are people.”

Michael gave a little shrug.

“Just because they’re human doesn’t make them expendable,” Lucifer spit out the words. “I would've thought you of all people would understand that, you adopted bastard.”

Dean winced. He couldn’t help himself. 

The insult, whether true or not, lured violence to the dark pits of Michael’s eyes. He watched his younger brother seething for nearly a full minute before saying in a clipped, clear voice, “I am just as much his son as you.” 

“You’re as magic numb as a pile of bricks, and if you weren’t so damn good at licking his boots he would’ve killed you years ago, and you know it.”

Michael raised one finger, and then another, as he softly said in warning, “That’s two. You get one more, Lu. One more and you’re out.”

“Don’t you start counting at me. Don’t you dare.” Lucifer warned. “Last night Dad promised me a shallow grave and there is nothing you can do that’s going to scare me more.”

With a heavy sigh, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dad never willingly walks away from investments. He’s put in too much time and effort on you to bury you that easily. I’m sure if you just forget about all of this business with the drugs then he will too. Why else would he give you a warning?” 

“So he warned me. So now what?” Lucifer raised his voice, demanding to know, “I’m just supposed to mind my own business and go back to my apartment? Do I just keep my head down and pretend that we’re not pushing drugs like some low level thugs?”

Dean glanced at the door, wondering if any part of this argument could be heard from out in the hall, or from inside any of the other rooms that they passed on their way in. He was almost certain that none of this conversation was meant to go beyond Michael’s office, or even as far as Dean, not that he had any options other than to stand there with his back to the door and listen mutely.

“Did you forget that this was all done for your benefit, Lu?” Michael seemed to be running low on whatever older brother protectiveness that had gotten them this far. “Maybe show some gratitude that Dad was willing to change  _ everything _ for you, to keep  _ you _ safe. You’re alive because apparently peddling drugs is the only way our family can keep up with your and Castiel’s workload after he left.”

“Don’t bring Cas into this,” Lucifer hissed, his fists shaking against his sides.

“The work you two were doing broke him,” Michael said very matter of factly. “He pushed himself too far and went right off the deep end. And  _ you _ , genius that you are, decided to learn nothing, and went headfirst into the job after him. If Dad didn’t step in and make some changes real fast then you’d either be in the wind like Castiel, or you’d already be dead.”

“I’m fine.”

“You put a screwdriver in your ear―”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Lucifer repeated, the words forced through clenched teeth.

“―because you started hearing voices.”

“Gabe hears the angels too, but oddly enough no one’s starting up a drug cartel for his benefit.”

“Because we didn’t find Gabriel unconscious and bleeding two months back!” Michael finally raised his voice, his patience slipping. “You don’t have to like where the help is coming from, Lu. God knows that you’re never happy with anything. But learn to stow your pride, and try to accept some help for one in your life, before you end up killing yourself.” 

Dean was no medical expert. Best he could manage was basic battlefield triage. He knew enough, though. Enough to say with some certainty that hearing voices, for magic adjacent reasons or not, was a bad sign.

More than that, the idea of anything sharp or pointed coming in contact with his ear-holes, freaked Dean out. For a moment Dean lost the brother’s argument, pressing a hand over one ear and trying not to remember all the urban legend horror stories from his youth about bugs crawling into sleeping people’s ears to lay eggs.

During the momentary flashback to his worst childhood nightmares, Dean apparently missed an important shift in the argument. 

“This is why my mom ran.” Lucifer pointed to the desk between him and Michael, with a broad, sweeping gesture. “All of his… his manipulative bullshit, this is what she was trying to keep me and Cas safe from.”

Michael stood, pressing his palms flat against his desk while he looked up at his brother. “I know you like to tell yourself that she died tragic and innocent, all because Dad’s some kind of monster and couldn’t forgive her for stealing you and Castiel― but you  _ know _ what he did was because she was dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

“Your mother was a demon, Lu. Dad was keeping you and Castiel safe. Just like he’s trying to do now.”

“He paid someone to kill me!”

“If he wanted you dead then you’d be dead. He knows a little gunshot wound isn’t going to kill you.”

“So now you’re on his side?”

“I’m on the same side I’ve always been on. The keeping you alive side.” Michael’s words didn’t match his tone as he sounded nearly ready to go over the top of his desk and kill Lucifer himself. “If that means I have to look away when a few humans turn up dead, then so be it. I won’t be losing any sleep over them.”

“And what about when I turn up dead?”

“You won’t,” Michael said like he was laying down a law. “No more poking around. No more playing Nancy Drew. You’ve solved your little mystery. If Dad said it’s time for you to drop it, then it’s time for you to drop it.”

“I can’t.”

Michael sank back into his chair, his emotions being stowed away behind a cold wall. “Figure it out.”

Dean thought to himself what an utterly useless visit this was. It didn’t matter how sound Michael’s advice was if Lucifer had no intention of taking it. 

They could have just stayed back in the hotel. 

It would have been less stressful. 

“You,” Michael snapped his fingers, fixing Dean in his sights. “Your job hasn’t changed. You do what you need to to keep him alive, or pray that you die trying.”

The implication in that open threat was clear enough. 

If Lucifer ended up dead, so would Dean.

Which was starting to feel unavoidable, because it wasn’t just hitmen that they’d have to contend with. Dean was also up against Lucifer’s stubborn refusal to let this go. 

“Don’t wanna tell you how to live your life, boss,” Dean started in softly once they were back out in the maze of underground passages, “but sometimes when someone offers you an easy out, it’s in your best interest to take it, even if it’s a shitty offer.”

Lucifer’s eyes slid to the side as he sized Dean up. “What an offer! I can live as a petty drug dealer, or I can die with some dignity. Hmmm, choices, choices.”

“No such thing as dying with dignity, man. Dead is dead.” 

“I can still be a smug ghost. It’s just as good.”

Dean shook his head. “Can’t tell if that’s a bad joke, or if you’re serious here.”

“Selling magic is one thing. Selling drugs and calling them magic is another. Letting people die from a bad batch of drugs, just to save myself a bit of work over the weekend is…”

“Did you really work yourself to the point you ended up in a coma?”

“I…” Lucifer trailed off again, frowning. “You know what? It’s none of your damn business, but yes. All magic has limits, and I found mine. Mike just likes to blow these things out of proportion. He’s the one who found me, and I guess it scared him, or whatever, because he’s still being a dramatic son of a bitch.”

A trait that evidently ran in the Williams family.

“And the voices?” Dean gently pressed

“Not related to the coma.”

Which wasn’t even close to a helpful response, and Dean frowned. “Have you seen a doctor about that? Or an exorcist?”

Lucifer smiled faintly, but otherwise offered no answer.

They made their way back to the hotel via another short cab ride and a long walk, then a long climb up the stairs to their room. Not even thinking the movement through, Dean pulled the keycard out of Lucifer’s hand once they reached the door. 

“I know you’re going to hop right back into your suit as soon as you can, but,” he looked over his shoulder at the other man, “this is a good look on you. Maybe you should consider expanding your wardrobe.”

“I can’t think of a single place I would ever willingly go to where this would be the appropriate way to dress,” Lucifer said with a hint of amusement, tugging at the sleeves of the jacket he’d stolen. 

“Well, what about days like today, when you need a quick and easy disguise?”

Lucifer pointed to the door, making a ‘hurry up’ motion with his hand. “You’ve only been here a few days, so it probably doesn’t look like it, but believe me when I say that very rarely is anything in my life exciting enough that I need to worry about hiding or needing a disguise.”

And that was a shame. Not because Lucifer deserved or needed to be terrorised more frequently, but because he really did look good in Dean’s borrowed clothes and it was unfortunate that they couldn’t make this a regular thing. 

Dean did his quick sweep of the hotel room, finding no one lurking in corners or under the bed. “Coast is clear, boss. Come on in. Clean suits are hanging in the closet.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“Since we’re not going anywhere, I don’t have to dress up, right?” Dean asked, closing the door behind Lucifer and locking up. 

“Don’t sound so hopeful,” the other man said with a soft laugh, drifting towards the closet far too eagerly. 

The two of them had wasted their whole morning, doing nothing but stirring up more trouble. Talking to Mike hadn’t changed anything at all, except maybe solidifying Lucifer’s stubborn need to stay on the track he’d set for himself, despite the obvious danger.

Dean frowned and folded his hands behind his back.

Lucifer was still standing in the closet’s doorway.

“What’s wrong now?” Dean asked with a sigh. “Is there a stain or something?”

No answer.

Dean braced himself for some high level temper tantrum over something incredibly stuipid, and joined Lucifer in the closet. 

The drycleaning bags had been pulled open, both suits hanging there pristine, pressed and clean, in sharp contrast to the t-shirt that hung in the garment bag over Lucifer’s suit. The fabric was sun faded and moth eaten, cartoony letters saying ‘Roswell, NM’ and a little neon green UFO stealing the ‘NM’ with its tractor beam, all obscured with dark red-brown stains that could only be old blood. It was too small to be an adult’s shirt. 

Dean’s stomach turned. 

It was  _ far _ too small to be an adult’s shirt.

“What the fuck is this?” Dean demanded, reaching out to pull the shirt from the closet, only to get his hand grabbed before he could touch it. He turned to Lucifer, the question catching in his throat.

“Cas begged Mom for this stupid shirt,” Lu said unsteadily, his face paper white. ”He wore it all the time. It… it was his security blanket when we moved back here to New York.” Lucifer’s hand was very tight around Dean’s wrist. “He was wearing it when Mom died. We threw it away,” 

Which raised a few more questions that Dean didn’t fet a chance to ask. 

“We threw it away.” Lucifer began walking backwards, inadvertently dragging Dean with him, shaking his head as he whispered, “It was covered in her blood, so we threw it away.”

Dean took Lucifer by the shoulders and turned him away from the closet, doing his best to steer the taller man to a safer corner of their hotel room. “Hey, hey, you’re fine. Look at me. Right here.”

Lucifer’s eyes were wide and unfocused, looking far past Dean, years and years past, to some distant and awful memory.

“Come on. Keep it together, Lu.”

“Don’t treat me like a woman in hysterics,” Lucifer suddenly snapped. “My brother’s bloody shirt is in my hotel room. The hotel room that I didn’t reserve in my name. The room that no one should know I’m staying in.  _ That shirt _ shouldn’t be here. Why the hell is it here?”

It would have been fantastic if Dean could have come up with a single good answer to give the other man. 

“Did you put it there?”

“ _ What _ ?” Dean laughed sharply, caught off guard.

“You were the last one to touch the suits.”

“How the hell would I, A: have your baby brother’s shirt?” Dean began ticking the reasons off on his fingers, “B: Have any reason to put his shirt with your suit? And C: have any fucking time to do it?”

“I don’t know a god damned thing about you. You could be on Dad’s payroll for all I know, just sent here to keep an eye on me.”

“Wow. No. Reel in that paranoia of yours, boss.”

“This isn’t paranoia. Cas’ shirt here is as obvious as a horse head in my bed,” Lucifer pointed at the closet, “and if you weren’t the one who put it in there, that means that Dad’s got people here on payroll somehow―and he can’t have people  _ here _ . His territory doesn’t come to this side of the city. This whole block is supposed to be neutral. That’s why it’s supposed to be safe. That’s why I’m supposed to be safe.” He pulled a shaking breath, his arms falling heavy to his sides. “But he… he… he still found a way.”

Unpleasant as it was, Dean had jumped to the same conclusion.

Marlon Williams didn’t walk away from an investment, not unless he had to. But he’d clearly done it once before by killing the mother of two of his children, and it seemed he was willing to do it again.

Dean cast a sideways glance at the closet and softly asked, “So, uh, what are we gonna’ do?”

Lu’s shoulders sagged. “I keep my head down and I go back to work.”

**___________________**

For the better part of a week that they’d been together, Dean had heard mention of Lucifer’s ‘work’. During that time he’d formed a very inaccurate image in his mind of what sort of white collar day job kept Lucifer busy when he wasn’t dodging hitmen. 

‘Office’ was a generous term for the glorified prop closet two floors below Lucifer’s apartment. It looked like the world’s largest junk drawer, and instantly Dean was longing for the clutter of upstairs―not that he was a tidy person by nature, but there was something to be said for being able to see the floors and windows and countertops. 

Momentarily too stunned to even enter the room, Dean missed the opportunity to properly look around and declare it safe for the other man to enter, before Lucifer was breezing past Dean, following the narrow trails around knee-high stacks of books and battered banker boxes. 

“Aren’t there rules or something,” Dean looked uneasy at the clutter, not sure how to safely enter the room without knocking into anything important and causing some awful avalanche that Lucifer wouldn’t be willing to forgive. “Like, ‘don’t conjure where you sleep’, or something along those lines.”

“I don’t sleep here,” Lucifer said absently, leafing through a small stack of envelopes that he’d found on the edge of a drafting table. 

“Obviously.” Dean edged his way around the first few curves of the trail. “Only thing that could manage to sleep here would be mice and roaches. Seriously, Lu, this is borderline hoarding.”

“You can wait in the hall.”

“‘Scuse me?”

Lucifer glanced up, looking almost back to his regular, grumpy self for the first time since they’d left the hotel that morning. “The hall. You can wait out there.”

“For…?”

“For me to be finished working.”

Dean frowned. 

“If you’re in here I know you’re going to be touching things, and distracting me. I need to work,” he shook his stack of envelopes, “I’m nearly a week behind.”

“I’ll be good,” Dean drew an X over his heart like a promise. He looked around the cramped space and saw a high backed chair under a pile of animal pelts. The furs were respectfully re-homed to a dusty milk crate only half full of unlabeled VHS tapes. 

Lucifer watched every little movement with a deepening frown. 

Dean grinned toothily, tapping into his deep well of charming-son-of-a-bitch. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Looking utterly unconvinced, Lucifer slowly turned back to his stack of envelopes, spreading them out over the mess covering the work bench. 

Despite what may or may not have been in Dean’s blood, he hadn’t grown up in a ‘magical’ household. Aside from Sam’s obvious gift that had been undeniable from a very young age, the rest of the Winchesters were all those ‘basic, vanilla-flavored humans’. Dean had never had a chance to sit and watch anyone weave  _ real _ magic. He’d seen his share of fast and flashy magic, things like Sam’s ‘do what I say’ spell, or Cas pulling a sword out of thin air a few days before, or even Lucifer somehow coaxing Dean’s real last name out of him right after they’d met. Those were all in the moment types of magic, flexing their magical-muscles, so to speak. The more academic side of magic, the kind that took time and practice, where you could weave a spell now for someone else to use later, was nothing that Dean had ever actually had a chance to watch. 

It was far more boring than he ever could have imagined. 

Five minutes into Lucifer making lists, and collecting and carefully measuring ingredients, Dean was over it. He’d been hoping for the excitement that children’s cartoons had promised him, with some wildly throwing ingredients into a sinisterly bubbling cauldron, or at the very least some dark candles and ominous chanting. Instead he got Lucifer leaning on his elbows, chewing the end of a pencil and muttering to himself.

It was only natural that Dean’s attention began to drift. 

The apartment offered up it’s fair share of distractions, literally hundreds of things that were more interesting to look at than Lucifer scowling at his work table. The leaning tower of dented cardboard boxes closest to Dean was filled with murky mason jars, the stack of floor books beside those had Latin words printed on their spines, on top of the books was a ceramic bowl filled with broken watches and reading glasses, and as he leaned in closer his eyes caught on the piles of roughly a dozen children’s shoes (none with partners) that were spilling out from under his chair. 

“Lu, with all due respect, what the fuck do you do in here with all this junk?”

The line of Lucifer’s back rounded as he hunched deeper over his work, clearly intending to ignore the question.

Dean sighed, fitting his palms over the chair’s armrest, feeling the uneven texture of the wood biting into his skin. Hissing between his teeth, he turned his hands over to find splinters sticking into his palms like porcupine quills. 

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, and the words hardly left his mouth before Lucifer was looming over him, pulling Dean’s hands up for inspection. “I-I’m fine,” Dean started to argue, “go back to eating your pencil.”

Lucifer met his eyes with a withering look, before leading Dean by the hands to the work bench. “You couldn’t go five minutes, could you?”

“It’s only like a half dozen splinters.”

That didn’t matter, apparently. 

Lucifer held both Dean’s wrist in one hand while he dug through his mess for a set of needle nosed pliers. 

“No thanks?” Dean could see where this was going, and wasn’t into it.

Lucifer sighed in irritation. “What chair were you sitting in?”

“That one right there. You literally just pulled me out of it.”

“ _ Look _ at the chair, Dean.”

Which was a downright ominous request, and Dean couldn’t help but slowly look back at the chair. 

It was a chair. 

High backed. Old. Solid. The arms were heavily splintered, deep, rough furrows cutting into the wood. There were the remains of straps hanging loose from the underside of the arm rests, and around the leg. 

Dean’s guts twisted in a neat knot. “What the hell is that?”

“That is New York’s very first electric chair.” Lucifer began pulling out the splinters, each one coming free with a sharp tug. “It’s fairly haunted, and really not something you want inside of you.”

“Why do you have an electric chair?”

“I need it sometimes,” he mumbled as he worked. The splinters came out quickly, but Lucifer didn’t immediately let go, instead holding both Dean’s hands in his, their palms pressed tight together. 

Lucifer bowed his head and whispered something too low to catch. 

A warm, oddly peaceful feeling filled Dean, but before he had a chance to enjoy it, the other man was pushing him away. 

“I can’t babysit you while I’m working,” Lucifer turned back to his table. “Go wait out in the hall.”

Dean ignored the order, looking at his hands and the little pink dimples where the splinters had been. “Did you… what did you do to me?”

“I blessed you,” he snapped, “and I’ll do a lot worse than that to you if you don’t let me work. Go wait in the hall, Dean.” 

“I’m supposed to keep an eye on you,” he folded his arms, “that doesn’t mean putting a closed door between us.”

“And this is different than everytime one of us has had to shower… how?”

“I didn’t have to worry about you jamming a screwdriver in your ear while you’re in the shower.”

Lucifer set his jaw. “Would you prefer I hand over all my pointy tools to you before kicking your ass out?”

It wasn’t a bad idea, and Dean shrugged and offered a small and hopeful smile to try and soften the whole exchange.

“Get out.”

“I’ll just sit in a different, less evil chair.”

“Out.”

They could keep arguing. After all, Dean wasn’t here to follow Lu’s orders. He was here to keep the man safe―which meant not leaving him alone. 

But this wasn’t a fight that was going to end well. 

“I’ll be right outside,” Dean said, raising his hands in surrender. “If you decide to do something dangerously stupid, give a shout so I can come in and save your life, or whatever. Alright?”

Lucifer drummed his fingers against the desk. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, and whistling nonchalantly, Dean saw himself back out into the incredibly boring hallway. 

He really hadn’t lied to Marlon two nights back when the man found Dean and Lucifer on his desk. Dean was awful at waiting around and doing nothing. 

It took nearly an hour of standing there, holding up the wall, before something finally happened. 

The numbers above the elevator started to light up in turn and Dean held his breath with excitement. He knew it was too much to hope that it might stop on his floor, just like he knew it probably wouldn’t be Sam stopping by to save him from his mind numbing boredom. 

He could hope though. 

Some version of luck was on Dean’s side, because the numbers did stop changing once they reached floor six, however it was not Sam who stepped out. It was no one that Dean even slightly recognised, which shouldn’t be surprising, because this was a huge apartment building and the few days that Dean had stayed with Lucifer were not spent socialising with the neighbors.

Dean only had the smallest moment to place bets with himself which of the various unmarked doors in the hall could be the intended destination for this man with his sharp suit and week’s worth of a beard. Within moments it was clear that the newcomer was making a beeline towards Lucifer’s door. 

Tired, but mildly curious eyes sized Dean up as the man drew closer. In place of a normal greeting, the man simply said in a raspy voice, “I’ve been telling him for years he needs to get someone at the door to keep the riff raff out.”

Dean dipped his head, neither confirming or denying that he was Lucifer’s bodyguard and temporary doorman. 

The man stopped a few feet away Dean, close enough to see the glint of gold circling his dark, heavy set eyes. “Am I expected to know the secret password, or do you just pop in and tell his royal highness I’m here?”

“Who am I sayin’s here?”

“Crowley. And be quick, darling, I’m not used to waiting.”

“ _ Darling _ ,” Dean muttered, fighting back a smile and inwardly praying that this man would talk to Lucifer the same way because it would be amazing to see how badly Lucifer dealt with being called ‘darling’.

“You’re not going to give me your name?” Crowley asked before Dean could open the door. 

He hesitated, looking back with a smile. “You can  _ call  _ me Dean, but I’m not  _ giving _ you anything.”

Crowley nodded, smiling back faintly like they’d shared a joke. “Fair enough. Go tell the princess that I’m here.”

It looked like Dean’s guess might have been right. He’d always had a nose for monsters, even if all he had to go off was that otherworldly glint in the other man’s eyes.

Fairies freaked Dean out. There were too many rules about them that he absolutely didn’t understand. The only things his basic training covered was how to recognise the damn things, and the then warning to never ‘give’ them anything.

Lucifer didn’t look up when the door opened, chewing on his lower lip as he thumbed through an oversized book. Somehow in his time alone he’d lost his suit jacket and pushed up his sleeves. 

It was a little thing, a stupid thing, that made Dean smile and he didn’t know why.

Apparently Lucifer was actually capable of relaxing, but only when there were no witnesses.

Good to know.

“Almost hate to interrupt, boss,” Dean said, high stepping over a stack of shoe boxes, “because you look just so damn cute right now, but you’ve got a visitor. Some fairy who said he needs to talk to the princess.”

Lucifer dogeared the page he’d been studying, his eyes flicking up for only a moment. “‘Fairy’ like he likes musical theater, or ‘fairy’ like he might steal babies?”

“The second one?” Dean wasn’t sure that the whole baby stealing myth actually held up however. “Maybe both? He sounds English and I think they’re all supposed to be super cultured or whatever, so… he might like musicals?”

Lucifer looked back up, much slower this time, exasperated. “Thanks for that socially aware commentary, Dean. Is he blond and drunk, or dark haired and in a suit?”

“Dark hair.”

“Crowley,” Lucifer supplied before Dean had a chance to say the name himself.

“I was getting there,” Dean laughed.

“You should have led with it then. You’re an awful secretary.”

“And you’re actually pretty decent at playing twenty questions,” he teased back, leaning a hip against the work table. 

“Don’t stand there flirting with me, you ass. Go tell Crowley to get in here. He’s not good at waiting.”

“Neither am I, but no one seems to give a damn about that,” Dean grumbled before going to fetch the man he’d left in the hall. 

The moment the door opened Crowley breezed past him. “Did you hire a maid, Lu? I can actually see the floor.”

“I think Mike must have had to move some stuff out of the way so he could get me out after I collapsed.” Lucifer didn’t look horribly thrilled with the teasing.

Dean could only stand in the open doorway feeling stunned as he tried to imagine Lucifer’s work room somehow more of a mess than it already was. 

“Collapsed?” Crowley snorted. “Well, I did tell you you were working too hard, love. You’re going to end up like that brother of yours.”

“Probably,” Lucifer sighed, rolling his sleeves down and sitting up straighter. “Dean. Hallway. Close the door behind you.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with this guy.” Dean said like a knee-jerk reaction. “He’s shady as hell.”

Crowley snorted again.

Focused on buttoning his cuffs, Lucifer asked dryly, “Crowley, are you here to try and kill me?”

“Not today, darling. I’m booked solid,” the man answered back with equal levels of sarcasm. 

“There you go, Dean,” Lucifer glanced up. “I’m perfectly safe.”

It wasn’t convincing, but there was nothing keeping Dean from listening at the other side of the door for signs of danger. So, back out in the hallway he went.

Dean had never really minded when Benny sent him away, but then again the vampire had never given him a reason to worry.

The men’s voices were muffled through the door, so only little snippets came through. 

“Didn’t actually expect to find you taking office hours today, and with a guard dog at the door no less.”

Lucifer’s answer didn’t make it out to the hall, but Crowely’s laughter did.

Dean leaned his shoulder against the door, pressing his ear to the wood.

“So the rumors are true, I take it? A little trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Lucifer’s usual confidence came through loud and clear. “What have you got for me?”

Crowley had business, it seemed.

Dean listened to the men talking about costs and deadlines. Crowley had paperwork that needed to be signed. Lucifer was behind in his workload, and Crowley could talk to the clients, but he wouldn’t be asking for an extension, the spells needed to be done by the end of the week.

“In all the years you’ve known me have I ever missed a deadline?”

“Your brother was the one who never missed a deadline, Lu. You were the one who could never admit when you were in over your head.”

“I’ll have them done in time. I always do. Send over the rest of the paperwork and I’ll read through it. Now get out so I can get back to work.”

“Always a pleasure to see you too.” The door opened and Crowley stepped out, smoothing his hands down the lapels of his jacket, sparing a glance at Dean. “If they hired you to keep him safe, you’re standing on the wrong side of the door.”

Dean shrugged, taking a small step back, making no attempt to pretend that he hadn’t been trying to listen in on their private conversation.

“And they’re not paying you enough,” he called over his shoulder on the way to the elevator. “Not if you’re stuck with Lu.”

The silver doors slid closed behind Crowley and Dean was left alone in his hallway feeling oddly insulted on Lucifer’s behalf. Sure, the last week hadn’t been anyone’s definition of ‘fun’, but there were certainly worse Williams boys that Dean could have gotten himself stuck with.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go. a happy chapter, with lots of joking and accidental flirting. It also covers about 2 weeks of time between the boys, and if you've been with me for a while, then you know I loves me some time skips :D
> 
> But it's also a heckin long chapter, so please be kind to yourself, and don't start this one as a 'just one more chapter before bed' kinda thing.  
> Also, just be kind to yourselves in general. Stay hydrated. Rest when you can. Go have a snack.   
> If you're like me and have crushing depression, I recommend distracting fanfics, memes, and occasionally rocking out 80s music  
> and, uh... that's your unsolicited peptalk from your friendly internet big sister <3

“Time to call it a day,” Dean repeated a little louder, leaning over the desk to take Lucifer’s face between his hands. 

Startled, blue eyes finally looked up from the scattering of books and bones and jars of dirt.

“I’ve said it three times, Luci,” Dean fought to keep the grin off his face. After days of the same song and dance, Dean had learned that it was best not to show any signs of amusement when trying to drag the man away from his work.

With a small scowl, Lucifer straightened, pulling himself out of Dean’s grasp. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re  _ always  _ in the middle of something, but I haven’t eaten since this morning and if I don’t get some food in me soon then I’m going to start poppin’ open these jars of yours and chowing down, and I’ll just have to hope I get lucky.”

Lucifer grunted and turned back to his books. “We can have lunch in a bit. I need to finish this.”

“The sun is setting.” Dean swept his arm towards the bank of windows and the darkening sky. “Lunch would’ve been a couple hours ago when I poked at you and told you it felt like lunchtime and you should take a break.”

Lucifer’s frown deepened, little irritated creases making deep lines between his eyebrows. “Fine. Dinner. If you’re hungry go up to the apartment and eat.”

“I don’t leave you alone, boss. You know the rules.”

“I think I can handle being on my own for a few minutes,” Lucifer glanced up, “we don’t even have to tell Mike about it.”

“Your brother didn’t tell me to stick to you  _ unless _ I get hungry and you’re in the middle of something.” Dean flapped a hand at the table, honestly having no idea what it was that he was looking at. “So put a pin in it for now, you can come back down and tinker with your toys again tomorrow.”

“ _ Tinker _ ?” 

“Yeah. Tinker. You’re in here every day  _ tinkering _ with your toys, or strangling your possum, or petting your kitten, or just whatever the hell you want to call whatever the hell it is you do in here all day until I drag your sorry ass upstairs and force some food in you before you pass out and we do it all again tomorrow.”

“You’re in a mood.”

“I’m.Hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Lucifer sighed, tucking bookmarks into the half dozen open books he had spread over the desk. “Am I cooking, or are you?”

“Seeing as you usually faceplant on your bed as soon as we get in? I’ll probably be the one cooking… again.”

“Definitely in a mood.” He stacked his books neatly, same as he did every night, the smallest pretense of order in an otherwise chaotic space. “I guess that means it’s your turn to be the dramatic one tonight.”

That little self aware jibe was the first proper joke out of Lucifer since they’d come back from their night in the hotel, and it left Dean grinning.

Usually it was just grumbled complaints from Lu that he was being interrupted, or protests over the fact that he only wanted to sleep and he could eat in the morning―even though the man rose with the sun and went straight from his closet to the stairs every day without any pause for food. 

“Why don’t we take tomorrow off?” Dean suggested hopefully. “We could sleep in, maybe go grocery shopping, we can swing by the tailor’s and see if that suit you had me fitted for is finally done.”

“When I’m done we can have a day off,” Lucifer walked around Dean, headed towards the hall and the stairs and the apartment. “You look like you need it.”

“I look like I need it? You’re the one who looks like shit. You’re hardly sleeping, I practically have to force feed you. You didn’t even put on a tie this morning.”

Lucifer looked down at himself, patting his unadorned chest and neck, his eyes growing a little more focused. “It’s… it’s probably just blood loss. I get a little scattered… and I do not look like shit. You watch your mouth. I’m your boss. You have to at least pretend to respect me.”

“It’s just the  _ what _ ?”

“Respect? I know it’s a real big word, and you’re just a simple backwoods Texas boy out here in the big city, but I thought you’d know it. A woman named Aretha sang a fantastic song all about it. Think I’ve got it on vinyl. I can dig it out for you tonight if you want.”

“The blood loss?” Dean caught the other man by both sleeves, turning him around so they could face each other. He’d ignore the clear insult in the face of something far more important. “The blood loss?” 

“God, you’re in a mood tonight,” Lucifer complained and rolled his eyes up towards the top of the stairwell. “It’s just blood. I’ll make more. Bodies are really good at things like that.”

“Is this why everyone acts like you’re gonna work yourself to death? I thought it was just the― fuck! What the hell kind of magic are you working in that little room of yours?”

“Whatever the hell kind of magic I’m asked to,” he wrinkled his nose, “within reason.”

“Within reason includes blood magic?”

“It did yesterday.”

Blood magic was bad magic. Bad with a capital B. It was the lesser version of animal sacrificing, or worse, human sacrificing. Dean had only once in his life attempted magic that needed his own blood. He’d only been fourteen and desperate as hell. He’d nearly puked his guts out afterwards, and almost a decade later the memory still came back to him from time to time in the form of sweat soaked nightmares.

“You can’t use your magic to heal yourself,” Dean pointed out, squeezing the man’s wrists and reminding himself that they were very different people. Magic moved through people differently, and Lucifer actually knew what he was doing. The man didn’t need Dean’s concern. He needed a lecture. “You cut yourself and you didn’t even fucking bother to eat breakfast today? No wonder Mike hired you a babysitter.”

Lucifer sneered. 

“And you’ve got the balls to lecture me on selfcare? Complaining about what I wear to bed like that’s somehow a big deal in comparison to you bleeding yourself like a sacrificial chicken, you son of a bitch.”

“Are you done?”

“When we get upstairs you’re taking a shower, then I’m gonna look at whatever you’ve done to yourself and see if you need stitches, then you’re going to eat. We’re ordering takeout. You need carbs and protein.”

“You do know you can’t actually make me do any of that, right?”

“And  _ then _ , tomorrow you’re going to sleep in and we’re both going to have a real breakfast.”

Lucier snickered softly.

“I’m serious. You need to sleep. I’ll tie you to the bedpost if I have to. No more rolling out of bed at the asscrack of dawn.”

“I’d take that threat more seriously if I didn’t know that you couldn’t even tie your own tie without help.” Lucifer pulled his wrists free and walked up the last few bends in the stairs until they got to their floor. 

Dean really was serious about it though, and the whole way up to the apartment he was making a mental inventory of what he might be able to use as restraints. Ties seemed best. He could tie lucifer to the bed with a couple of those silk ties of his and it would be somehow very fitting. 

But thoughts like those, paired with the fact that he was following Lucifer’s cute little ass up the stairs, and Dean’s mind drifted back to only a week ago when the other man was shoving him down onto Marlon’s desk while nibbling on his ear, those long fingers of Lu’s digging into Dean’s hip. 

Apparently it had all been strictly for show, because Lucifer had turned off that physical attraction just as easily as he’d turned it on, and as far as Dean had noticed there hadn’t been a single hint at flirting between them since they’d returned to the apartment. 

Which was for the best, seeing as Dean knew he shouldn’t and couldn’t partake of that particular forbidden fruit. 

That wouldn’t stop his mind from wandering through.

Dean took Lucifer’s keys from his own pocket where he’d been keeping them the past few days, unlocked the door, did his habitual sweep of the apartment and found not a single monster or pile of clothes out of place. 

“Alright, get in here and let me check you over before it gets too dark to see.”

“I’m fine.”

“ _ You’re _ fine.  _ I’m _ fine.  _ We’re all fine _ .” Dean booted the door closed once Lucifer came in from the hall. “I’m still going to check you over, so show me what you did to yourself this time.” 

Lucifer folded his arms over his chest and looked at Dean with a clear expression of ‘no’.

“Look, you’re the one who hasn’t been eating, and you’re the one who’s apparently been bleeding himself. If you really wanna fight about this, it isn’t not going to go well for you, you anemic son of a bitch. But if you wanna wrestle first then let’s go. I’d love an excuse to beat the shit out of you.” 

And Dean could tell by the hardening of Lucifer’s eyes that he’d taken that threat one step too far.

“Come on,” Dean took the smallest step closer, “it’s my job to take care of you. Let me do my goddamn job for once. I’m going crazy standing around all day. Give me something to do.”

A bit of that ice melted as Lucifer looked away. “Go get the first aid kit. I can tell you're not going to leave this one alone.”

It was almost disappointing that Lu gave in so easily, a part of Dean had been looking forward to the prospect of tackling the man and forcibly taking care of him. 

A willing patient was probably just as good.

Dean got down the doctor’s kit and turned back to find Lucifer undoing his belt.

“Dude,” he cringed, holding the overgrown box of bandaids protectively over himself, “tell me you didn’t.”

Lucifer glanced up, his shirt tails loose and his slacks unbuttoned. “It’s on my  _ thigh _ .” 

Unclenching his insides, Dean came over to the couch and motioned for the other man to sit―because things could only get awkward if he were to kneel in front of pants-less Lucifer.

It was weird enough watching the man toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his pants. Any sexual tension that there might have been was overshadowed by the fact that Lucifer’s whole left thigh was wrapped in crimson speckled ace bandages. He sat heavily, sticking his injured leg out for inspection.

At a loss for words, Dean sank down onto the edge of the coffee table, his knees bracing on either side of Lucifer’s. 

“It’s just a scratch. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I don’t know how else to look at you right now, man,” Dean said uneasily, reaching out to begin unwinding the long string of bandages. 

A sharp sound escaped Lucifer and he pushed a few inches up off the couch but couldn’t really go any further than that. 

“Does it hurt that bad?” Dean was caught between sympathy and calling the other man an idiot for doing this to himself.

“No,” Lucifer said through his teeth. “It feels fantastic. I also just love having people feeling up my leg without warning. It’s the best. Not a violation of my personal space or anything,” said the man who may or may not have been aware of the fact that he’d been sleeping with his hands on Dean’s ass the last couple nights

“I’m gonna touch your pale ass leg now,” Dean announced, waggling his fingers in warning.

With his usual pout that never looked quite right, Lucifer sank down into the couch and let his head fall back. “Just do it then,” proceeded by a clear wince and the complaint of, “your hands are cold.”

“Yeah, so’s your personality,” he sniped back, hooking a hand under the other man’s knee and pulling it up to rest over his lap so he could unwrap the tightly wound bandages from around Lu’s leg.

“My  _ personality _ ? Weak,” Lucifer complained in a tired voice. “You can do better than that.”

Dean wasn’t the sort to turn down such a beautiful open invitation. “You dumbass, grownass, man child,” he let the complaints roll off him while he worked. “If I wasn’t here to haul your sorry ass to bed you’d be sleeping at that desk, wouldn’t you?”

“They’re old contracts that Cas signed. It’s easier to just do the spells on my own than to try and negotiate and push back the deadlines.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’ve never missed a deadline and I’ve never once had to renegotiate.” He let a sharp breath out through his nose. “My dad looks over every contract. If I have to change anything they’d go right back to his desk for review.”

“Ah,” Dean said softly as one little puzzle piece fit into place. 

“As soon as Cas left Dad started micromanaging everything, and sending Mike to check on me, because apparently I can’t do this on my own.”

Clearly, Lucifer couldn’t. 

Dean wouldn’t be there if Lucifer could handle the work on his own.

Which, in a weird way should have made Dean grateful for this proud son of a bitch who was doing more damage to himself than any hitman could have.

Under the tightly wrapped ace bandage, Dean found a blood stiffened handkerchief plastered to Lucifer’s leg. DIY first-aid at its finest. 

Sighing, he carefully unhooked Lucifer’s leg from his own, gently drawing circles with his thumb on the inside of the man’s knee. “Alright. Two choices here, boss. I grab some wet towels, we soak your leg and I peel that nasty thing off and then yell at you for a bit longer.  _ Or _ , you hop in the shower, that you really actually need because you smell like dirt and sulfur and sweat, and once you’re all scrubbed and shiny and clean I can disinfect your nasty leg and wrap you back up.”

“And then you’ll yell at me a bit longer?” Lucifer asked, his chin still tipped up towards the ceiling, the long line of his throat bobbing softly as he swallowed.

The man was such a mess. 

A devastatingly attractive mess. 

Or maybe it was just that Dean had always been drawn towards things that needed fixing. Problems, and farm equipment, and little monster princes who didn’t know how to take care of themselves but had still somehow managed to make it into adulthood.

“You need to eat some dinner, and  _ then _ I can go back to yelling at you,” Dean said, giving Lucifer's knee a squeeze and having absolutely no idea what to do with the breathy sound that escape the other man, or the way that his knees fell open just a little more like an invitation.

“I like when you yell at me,” Lucifer slowly looked up, “your face gets red and your freckles really start to stand out.”

Dean frowned, because that wasn’t a flirtatious smile the other man was wearing.

“You get this growl in your voice,” Lucifer knocked their knees together, chuckling softly, “just like an angry little puppy. It’s  _ adorable _ .”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself.” Not at all in the mood for whatever this was, Dean got to his feet. “But then get that shower afterwards. I’m gonna go down to Sam’s and see if him and Gabe are home and want some takeout too. I can probably talk them into picking it up.”

Folding his arms over his stomach, looking far too pleased with himself than any man in his state should, Lucifer smiled up at Dean. 

“Shut up and go take your shower. No bath. I swear to god if Michael kills me because I let you drown in the bath I will haunt your sorry ass.”

“Won’t I also be dead if I drown in the tub?”

Dean resisted the urge to reach out and smack the side of Lucifer’s smug face. “I’ll figure it out, ok? Don’t think I won’t.”

The smile turned into a grin, which would have been nice to see if the man on the couch didn’t have dried blood on his leg or sleepless bruises around his eyes.

“I’ll be back,” Dean promised.

“See if the kids want to come up and eat with us?”

“No. If you don’t have time to eat, or to sleep, or take care of yourself, then you don’t have time to hang out with your brother. Dinner and then bed and don’t argue with me on this because I’m still fine with tying you up so I can actually relax for a bit.”

The amused look that Lucifer gave him said that the man wasn’t buying the threat.

Hopefully they wouldn’t have to test it.

Taking Lucifer’s keys, and making sure he had some cash in his wallet to pay for dinner, Dean took the long walk down to the second floor. Lu had a spare key to Sam’s place, if only because it used to be Gabriel’s place up until two weeks ago. 

Faint music drifted out into the hall from behind the closed door. Someone was definitely home. Dean could have simply let himself in, (he could have even knocked if he hadn’t lost that habit years ago) but Dean remembered being a teenager. More importantly, he remembered all those times as a teenager that he’d been alone with someone he liked, only to be interrupted by adults. 

Key in the lock and the handle half turned, Dean raised his voice, “Sammy, you in?”

“Yeah?” Confusion and excitement in the kid’s voice.

“You decent?”

“Do you mean morally, or do you mean are we wearing pants?” Gabriel chimed in, his voice sounding like a younger, happier version of Lucifer’s.

Dean leaned his shoulder against the door jam, smiling. “I’m comin’ in and prefer not to see any adolescent asses.”

“Come on in, Dean,” Sam called out, his voice much closer. “It’s safe.” The door opened and Sam grinned like the sun coming out after a long storm. The kid threw his long arms around Dean’s shoulders in a brief but fierce hug. “Everything alright? You… look awful.”

“Thanks, Sammy. You too,” Dean reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair, earning himself a frustrated sound. 

Sam stepped back, fixing his hair and letting Dean into the apartment. “You’re alone tonight. Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s taking it easy tonight,” Dean glanced back at the empty space beside him where Lucifer usually occupied. “Hey, you boys up for running a quick errand?”

Gabriel groaned, flopping dramatically back on the bed where he’d been sitting. “Errands? You mean I’ve got to put shoes on?”

“Come on. We’ve been inside all day. It’s good for you,” Sam said encouragingly, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. “We can finish packing when we get back.”

“Packing?” Dean repeated, suddenly noticing the folded clothes and duffle bag on the bed beside Gabriel’s prone body. “Who’s leaving?”

“We both are,” Sam grinned, then reached out to Dean as that excitement turned to soft concern and he explained himself. “It’s just for a couple days, and I was gonna come talk to you tomorrow moring before we take off.”

There was a little bit of comfort in that. 

But only a little, and it couldn’t quite loosen the sudden knots in Dean’s stomach. 

“I’ve hardly had a chance to get caught up with you, kid,” he struggled to find the words that went with that awful abandoned feeling he hadn’t expected to be slapped with. “You only just got here.”

“I’m coming back,” he insisted. “Gabriel was just taking me to his parent’s house for a week.”

Brand new knots started to form in Dean. “His parent’s house?”

Sam shrugged, all the innocent, naive excitement making the movement very bouncy. “I met his dad yesterday, Mr. Williams, and he invited us to come up. Apparently there’s an indoor pool and horses and it’s just a little walk from the ocean―”

“Why?” Dean cut him off.

Sam blinked. “Why what?”

“Why did he invite you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam looked towards the bed at Gabriel who was laying there watching the brothers, offering no help. Sam looked back to Dean. “Because I’m dating his son? Because Michael has started to put me to work and I guess I’m doing a good job because he told his dad, and that’s why Mr. Williams wanted to meet me?”

“So he met you. Doesn’t mean you need to spend a week with him.”

“Not  _ with  _ him. We’re both going,” Sam hooked a thumb back towards the guy he’d only known for a week but was apparently now dating. “And Mr. Williams was really nice. Nothing at all like John. Why are you acting so damn weird about it?”

Dean hadn’t ever called either of his parents by their first names and it was strange to hear it out of Sam. It also made Dean feel like Sam might have left out bits and pieces of his story about just how good everything had been after Dean left him back in Texas.

“I don’t want you going out there.” Dean looked past Sam to the other kid in the room, Gabriel’s bright eyes fixed on him like he was waiting for something. “I’ve met the guy. He’s… he’s a real smooth talker. You don’t wanna get mixed up in this.”

Sam snorted. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Sammy, come on. I’m just looking out for you.”

“I made it through the last ten years of my life without you. I think I’ll be fine for another week.”

Dean winced. It was a low blow, but not underserved. 

He wasn’t about to be shamed out of his well placed concern, however. “Can you at least promise me you won’t be alone with him?”

“This is my dad you’re talking about,” Gabe sang.

“And your dad talked to me about how he’s got some daughters of the right age in case I was interested in breeding with any of them,” Dean didn’t hesitate to point out. It wasn’t anything that had been covered in the FBI dossier on Marlon Williams, but for Dean it felt like the most important warning he could give his brother. 

“Well, I’m not really into girls, so...” Sam shrugged.

“I’m serious here.”

“Dean, I’m not going there to hang out with Daddy Williams―”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“―I’m going to have a nice little vacation with my boyfriend, because I’ve never had a vacation in my life, ever, and I deserve it,” Sam finished, ignoring the interruption.

“It’s all perfectly innocent,” Gabriel said, rolling on to his stomach and resting his hands on his fists. “Well, not  _ innocent _ , because I’m hoping to get fucked senseless in as many places as possible while we’re there. But really, really, it’s just a little fun vacation. I’m not even sure if Dad’s going to be there the whole time.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, choosing to jump right over the first part of Gabriel’s ‘help’. “Why don’t you two go to Staten Island or something. Stay in a hotel. Raid a mini bar. Be delinquents in a public place. I don’t want my brother alone with your dad.”

“Oh wow. You’re worse than Lu,” Gabriel whispered in awe. “Is there like some big brother bootcamp you guys went to or what?”

“Something like that,” Dean sighed. He’d just wanted dinner. Not a fight with his brother, and definitely not a week’s worth of worry that somewhere Marlon Willams was sweet talking innocent and stupid Sammy into some kind of breeding program, or worse. “Please. Just please. I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend’s dad. Dude gives me the creeps.”

Sam sighed softly, his eyes going all deep and pleading, the dreaded puppy dog eyes coming out in full force. “Dean, come on. You’re overreacting here. You should be happy for me… don’t you think?”

Dean was. He really was. After so many years apart, and no bonds between them other than what they felt like they  _ should _ have, Dean couldn’t throw his weight around about this, and really couldn’t demand anything from Sam. All he could do is hope that his brother could find happiness. 

If that meant going away for a week, for a sexy little vacation with the least threatening of the Williams children, then Dean could be happy for him. 

“I  _ am  _ happy for you,” he grumbled, looking past his brother to the kid on the bed who was wearing an eager smile, “and you too, you little gremlin.” 

All thoughts of Marlon slipping out of Dean’s head, to be replaced by a warm, content feeling that he didn’t question, because never in a million years would he guess that Sam would cross that line and use his powers to push on Dean’ feelings. 

“Good,” Sam beamed, turning off those puppy eyes just as easily as he’d turned them on. “Now, what did you come down here for?”

**________________________**

Not surprisingly, Lucifer was in bed by the time that Dean made it back up to the apartment.

“Could you be any more loud when you walk?” Came the grumbled complaint from the lump beneath the blankets.

Dean had been trying to be quiet, but if Lucifer was awake then there was no point, and he let the door swing closed with a soft  _ bang _ . 

“Did you find food?”

“No,” Dean smiled, carefully making his way around the low coffee table in the dark, “but I sent the kids out to get us some Thai food. Gabe said you’ll eat it.”

Lucifer made a noncommittal sound.

“I’m not even sure what the hell Thai food is, but… as long as it’s food, I’m in.”

Another sound that didn’t mean much of anything at all.

Dean skirted the couch, pawing his way to where he’d left the first-aid kit. Enough nights here, with only the city lights outside the window to navigate by, and he’d gotten pretty good at finding his way around the little piles of clutter and furniture without banging up his shins too badly. 

He flipped on the bathroom light, swinging the door wide to help illuminate the rest of the apartment. “Did you make it to the shower? Or did you crash as soon as I left?”

“I showered, but only because I could smell myself, not because you told me I had to.”

“Hey, whatever gets the job done, boss,” Dean said with a chuckle, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. “How’s the leg?”

“Scabby?”

“Sounds hot,” Dean snorted, pulling at the blankets. “Leme see it.”

“You’ve seen one cut up leg, you’ve seen them all,” Lucifer mumbled and shied away under his blankets.

Which instantly piqued Dean’s concern. He tossed the blankets back and chased after Lucifer as the man tried to roll further away. They had a small tussle, but with Lucifer’s collection of self inflicted problems, he didn’t actually have that much fight in him. Dean ended up sitting on the man’s ankles.

Two things stood out to Dean from his perch.

First, Lucifer was wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts.

More importantly, he’d carved up his entire thigh with odd lettering that Dean couldn’t even attempt to read. The cuts weren’t incredibly deep, but they were numerous and they were clearly infected. 

“How the hell does a germaphobe like you let this happen?”

“I’m not a germaphobe,” Lucifer’s pout was clear in his voice, even if his face was too shadowed to read.

Dean sighed and reached for the first-aid kit, digging out every last alcohol wipe he could find. “First night I met you, you wouldn’t even let me touch you without getting all weird.”

“The last person I let my guard down for shot me in the stomach a few hours before you walked into my life. It had nothing to do with germs.”

The sharp smell of alcohol burned in Dean’s nose and he busied himself with cleaning the other man’s leg. He didn’t give any warning, he just started carefully wiping down the cuts and took some very small satisfaction in the way that Lucifer’s body tensed as he drew a hissing breath.

The lighting wasn’t great, Dean’s own shadow obscured most of his work, but he did the best he could, scrubbing carefully. “How long were you planning to let this go before you decided to take care of it?”

“I was going to once I was done with everything else.”

Dean wasn’t so sure he believed that, but it was a nice thought. “Next time you decide to cut yourself up tell me.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re the first person I’ve met who’s more of a chaotic dumbass than myself. How is it you and your brother Cas survived working together for so long? Or was it his side of the job to bleed for the spells before he bailed on you?”

“It was always my job, and he always healed me up afterwards.” Lucifer shifted, bending the knee of his uninjured leg. “I’m still adjusting.”

“Adjusting,” Dean mimicked, laughing softly. His fingers brushed against something that wasn’t skin and he was forced to lean forward, slightly twisting Lucifer’s leg to see a thick square of gauze taped into place fairly high up on the inside of his thigh. “What is this?”

“I needed a little extra blood today.”

Dean didn’t dare peel back the tape, instead, smoothing down the edges and making sure it was firmly in place. “Dude, do you have any idea how close this is to an artery?”

“I didn’t realise you were a doctor now,” Lucifer complained, turning his face to look out the window, like if he couldn’t see Dean then somehow he’d be able to avoid this particular lecture.

“I don’t have to be a doctor to know where a fucking artery is, Luci,” his voice dropped one full, angry octave.

“You have no clue what you’re even talking about.” Lucifer suddenly snaked out and took Dean’s hand, dragging their fingers over delicate skin, up under the hem of his boxers, pressing Dean’s index and middle finger into that soft dip where his hip and leg met. “It’s all the way up here.  _ Here _ . Can you feel that? This up here is a fucking femoral artery, you ass. I know what I’m doing well enough not to kill myself. Ok?”

“Ok,” Dean’s mouth numbly formed the syllables, but he hardly even noticed. The warm, almost hot, feel of the other man’s skin beneath Dean’s hand and the fast and strong pounding of Lucifer’s pulse, overwhelmed every other one of Dean’s thought processes. 

“You… you, um,” Dean struggled to stay focused on the problem, “is there any chance your brother is gonna come back to work so you don’t accidently shank this pretty little artery of your’s... or something worse?”

“Cas?” Lucifer’s voice had gone soft and distant, unlike his unrelenting hold on Dean’s hand. “No. He won’t come back. I’m very much alone.”

“Now who’s being the dramatic one?” Dean tried to joke, but his mouth was dry and his own pulse noticeably erratic as all his blood went rushing south. “You’ve got me.”

“I do,” Lucifer agreed in that same soft tone.

“Even if I can’t do much more than slap some bandaids on you.”

“Even if,” Lucifer repeated, his thumb drawing slow lines up and down Dean’s wrist. 

“Unless you can teach me a bit of magic? Show me how to fix you up?”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to… and I don’t want to.” He shook his head, frowning just enough to be seen in the dark. “I don’t want you inside of me.”

The choice of words brought a grin to Dean’s face and he gave the other man’s leg a squeeze. “You sure about that? Sir? Because I’m good to go either way.”

Lucifer made a sound of disgust, slapping Dean’s hand away. “Are you done messing with my leg yet? I’d like to try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, just about done.” Dean tried to keep it light and joking, but it was difficult when what he really wanted to do was lay himself down between the other man’s legs and just see where things went from there. “I still need to do the bandaid slapping part... maybe give it a little kiss better?”

“That sounds awful for both of us. No.” Lucifer hit weakly at Dean’s knees, the only part he could really reach while laying sprawled out like he was. “You’re not kissing the open wound on my leg. Don’t be weird.”

Dean chuckled, turning his face away, grateful that Lucifer could manage to so easily ignore the awkward situations that Dean kept accidentally putting them in. “You never know. Maybe I have magical healing demon spawn spit.”

“You’re  _ definitely _ not licking the open wound on my leg either.”

Dean laughed a little harder, dragging the first aid kit close once more and pulling out a fresh package of gauze. “Well, you ever change your mind, boss, and wanna give it a try… for science, then you know where my mouth is.”

Lucifer pressed his hands to his face and made a frustrated sound. “God, I should have killed you the night Mike gave you to me.”

“But if I was dead, who would make Gabe go pick up your Thai food, or make sure that you don’t work yourself to death.”

“Neither of those are part of your job description.”

“When the job description is simply ‘don’t let him out of your sights’ and ‘don’t let him die’ I’m gonna have to take a few liberties.” He pulled off a long line of medical tape and tore it with his teeth, carefully taping down the edges of the large swath of gauze he’d laid out over all the little cuts. 

“I don’t need you too―”

“I know. I know. You don’t need me, don’t want me, blah blah blah,” Dean slapped down another strip of tape. “New rule: you’re no longer allowed to be alone in your cave.”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Lu. 

“Serious. I’m not coming in one night to get you for dinner, only to find you dead and covered in your own blood. Not gonna happen.”

“I don’t work well with an audience.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care.” Dean tossed the tape back into the box. “I go with you when you work, or I tie you to the bed and you don’t work at all.”

Lucifer reached down to his newly bandaged leg, slipping his fingers gingerly over the injury. “You’re really stuck on this idea of tying me up.”

“Because when I’m imagining it, it comes with a gag for you and I don’t have to listen to your bullshit anymore.” Dean smacked the man’s good leg and got off the bed. He went to go put the medical kit away and just barely managed to hear the other man sighing. 

“If you weren’t you, I’d eat you up.”

Dean’s shoulders hitched and he glanced back to see Lucifer drawing all the blankets back over himself. Dean shook his head, sure he’d imagined it, because if he hadn’t then he had no idea what the words meant or what the hell to do with them. “Hey, um, don’t fall asleep. The kids should be here any time with dinner.” 

“I’m not sleeping. I’m just cold,” Lucifer argued, but less than three minutes later he was snoring softly and he didn’t even stir when Gabriel’s incessant knocking started up. 

Dean ended up eating alone, and he was ok with that, figuring that he probably needed a little bit of quiet time for himself. 

Time to eat for the first time all day. 

Time to take a hot shower while imagining all the interesting things that Lucifer could have meant by threatening to ‘eat him up’. 

Time to collect his scattered thoughts before shaking the lump on the bed awake and making Lu sit up and eat some dinner.

It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was Dean’s, and he didn’t actually mind it all that much. 

**_________________**

“How many times do we need to go over the rules?” Dean growled, hooking an arm around Lucifer’s waist as the other man tried to climb out of bed. “Too damn early for work.”

“I finished yesterday,” Lucifer grunted back, pushing at Dean’s arm. “I told you last night.”

He blinked, trying to recall the conversation, but came up blank. After three very long days of sitting across the work table from Lucifer, Dean’s mind felt pretty damn numb and most of their late night talks had on their way back up to the apartment had started to mush together. 

“You’re really done?” Dean repeated doubtfully, not willing to accept that the week long nightmare was finally over. 

“Until Crowely comes back with the next batch of orders.” Lucifer sighed, finally giving up trying to escape the bed and sank back into the warm spot he’d been trying to leave. 

“How does he fit into the family exactly?”

“He doesn’t,” Lucifer sighed. “Crowley isn’t family. He’s… he’s more of an independent contractor.” He nudged an elbow back into Dean’s stomach. “Come on. Let go.”

“It’s still too early.”

“I need to go get Gabe up.” The man continued to push at Dean. “It’s my week for him, and he needs to go to school.” 

“The kids are skippin’ school this week,” Dean said with a yawn before burning his face in his pillow, hiding from the unrelenting sunlight coming in the window. 

Lucifer rolled over slowly. “You want to run that one by me again?”

“They went up to your dad’s place a few days ago.” Dean explained, trying not to laugh at the bewildered expression on the other man’s face. “Sammy’s never had a real vacation before. He’s never had anything before. How we grew up… your family’s home’s gotta look like a fucking castle. I’m happy your dad invited them out.” 

Lucifer sat up, straightening his stolen Black Sabbath tee while fixing Dean with a steady look. “You’re  _ happy  _ that your baby brother is  _ alone  _ with my dad? Did you drink out of one of my jars last night or something?”

“Horses, a pool, Gabe? If there’s vegan food and maybe a dog then I doubt Sam’s gonna be willing to leave.”

“My dad wont  _ let  _ him leave.”

Dean laughed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You didn’t want your brother anywhere near Michael because Sam’s a young, innocent, good looking kid, who can talk anyone into anything he wants. So why the hell did you let him go anywhere near Dad?”

“I mean…” Dean frowned, running a hand through his hair as he tried to remember, “When he first told me he was going, I tried to talk him out of it. If you clock in at a four or five on my spooky-scale, your dad’s got to be a solid fourteen.”

Irritation snuck in under Lucifer’s blanket of concern. “I’m only a  _ four _ ?”

“Or a five,” Dean soothed. “You’ve got your moments, but you’re just not your dad. Dude gives me the creeps.”

“But you let you brother go out there because…?”

“Because he needed a vacation. I’m happy for him.” Dean didn’t understand what part of this the other man wasn’t getting?

“Do you hear yourself?” Lucifer narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little closer to Dean, squinting at him. “You’re happy that your sweet baby brother is alone with my dad.”

Very suddenly those words didn’t sound right. 

Sam shouldn’t be within a twenty mile radius of any kind of person like Marlon Williams.

Regardless of how tall or how sarcastic Sam was, he was still a wide eyed kid fresh off the farm, with more potential than life experience, and it was painfully obvious. 

“I don’t want Sam anywhere near your dad,” Dean found the words and they felt so very right.

“Which brings me back to the question of why the hell did you let him go anywhere near my dad?”

Dean made a face. He didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t have  _ any  _ answer.

But then it caught up with him like a landslide. 

“Oh, that little shit.” Dean sat up, shoving aside the blankets and ignoring the morning chill that had settled into the floorboards and stung his feet. “He got in my head. I told him he couldn’t go, and he pushed and poked and…  _ son of a bitch _ . I’m gonna kick his ass once I get my hands on him.”

Lucifer chuckled.

Dean wheeled around. “You think this is funny?”

“It just took you way too long to shake that spell off.” Lucifer waved it away, passing a hand over his eyes and wiping away his smile. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m gonna go get my fucking idiot brother before he decideds to ask ‘ _ Daddy Williams _ ’ to adopt him.” 

A full bodied shiver moved through Lucifer and he made a soft retching sound.

“Yeah,” Dean grimaced, “that’s what Sam called him. He actually said those words to me and then he poked around in my brain and made me ok with it.” Dean grabbed a suit from the closet, his threats turning into nothing more than a jumble of angry words let out into the universe at large as Dean shed his night clothes and got pulled on the suit. 

“If that fuckin’ kid isn’t already dead I’m gonna kick his manipulative ass. He used magic on me. His own god damned flesh and blood and he didn’t even blink. He just poked around in my head until he got what he wanted. Didn’t even break a sweat. I’m gonna kill him myself.”

“Hate to interrupt,” Lucifer raised his voice to be heard over Dean’s rant, “but how exactly do you plan to get your brother?”

“I’m going in the front door and hauling him out by his ear.”

“I mean are you planning to  _ walk  _ home? Hitchhike? Sprout wings and fly? I’m just curious.” Lucifer’s gentle taunt took the wind right out of Dean’s sails. 

Clenching his jaw, he came out of the closet. “I can take a taxi.”

“And the address you’ll give the driver is...?”

Dean threw his hands up. “I’m not leaving my brother there.”

Lucifer blew out a flutter breath, glancing at the windows for a moment before shaking his head. “Let me get dressed. We can use Mike’s car.”

We.

Dean had nearly forgotten that he couldn’t go anywhere alone. He and Lucifer were tied at the hip, and he wasn’t going anywhere without the other man.

“”Pack your warmer suits,” Lucifer got out of bed, heading towards the bathroom, “it’s pretty cold out there this time of year.”

“ _ Suits _ ?” Plural? Dean frowned. “ _ Pack _ ?”

“I know it’s hard for you, but your Sam’s actually an adult,” Lucifer called over his shoulder. “You can’t  _ make _ him do a damn thing he doesn’t want to. But we can go keep an eye on him… and Gabriel.”

So, not a rescue mission, but another babysitting job.

At least it was something that Dean knew he could handle. 

Or at least something he thought he could handle.

**_______________________**

  
  


The sun was out, which was a nice change from the last time Dean had been out to the house, and it lent the whole trip an optimistic air. One that didn’t last long as they approached the front door, Lucifer two steps ahead of Dean, pausing a moment to look back and say, “My dad thinks we’re sleeping together.”

Dean frowned, then grinned, then frowned again in quick succession. “Why?”

“Because last time we were here you threw me down on his desk and bit my ear.”

Though it had happened nearly two weeks ago, the memory of it was still fairly fresh in Dean’s mind, and Lucifer had things a little backwards. However, the blame of who bit who was irrelevant. Dean had started that lie (for a very valid reason) and was now the one to blame for the fact that it existed. 

He shifted his duffle bag from one hand to the other. “So… we keeping up appearances, or has the charm of screwing your bodyguard worn off?”

A hint of color crept into Lucifer’s cheeks, but it was probably just due to the cold wind whipping around them. “I think my dad’s slightly less likely to try and hook you up with one of my sisters if we’re still,” his frown deepened as he flicked a hand between them.

Dean’s life would be a lot easier if no one was hounding him to be a sperm donor, so the decision was fairly easy to make. “Then I guess I’ll follow your lead, boss.”

“Don’t call me that. Especially not around  _ him _ .”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

Lucifer gave him a very disapproving look before he opened the doors and went inside. 

There was no butler, or doorman, or whatever it was that Dean expected to greet them, just an open foyer that gave off the same ‘do not touch anything’ vibe as the last time he’d been inside. 

“Does anyone actually live here?” Dean whispered, wincing as his voice carried up to the high ceilings. “It feels like a museum… and you grew up here? No wonder you ended up like you did.”

That got a soft, breathy laugh out of the other man. “You’re such an ass. Yes, people live here. Dad, whoever he’s married to currently, house staff, any kids that are still pretty young, some of the kids who are older but work more closely with Dad.”

“It’s so quiet.”

“It’s a big house.” Lucifer dropped his bag beside the foot of the stairs and nodded for Dean to do the same. “Don’t go wandering around on your own.”

“You worried I’ll get lost?”

“I’d love for you to get lost,” he said with a wistful sigh, which wasn’t at all an answer as to why Dean needed to not go exploring on his own.

Before he even had a chance to challenge this, or point out that he never went anywhere on his own, a door above them opened and a man leaned over the upstairs railing to look down.

Though it was a familiar face, it was not one Dean expected to see. 

Gadreel frowned at Lucifer, an expression which softened a touch when it met Dean, and then the man was gone. Another door opened and closed out of view and the hall grew silent again. 

A flash of warm memories and pleasant hormones flooded Dean. Not feelings. He had precisely zero feelings when it came to the man who’d he’d had half of a quickie with a couple weeks before, but his body remembered those strong arms and those calloused hands. 

Dean cleared his throat and glanced over at Lucifer. “You want to come help me find the kids and make sure they’re both in one piece?” 

His face still turned up to the top of the stairs as if he were waiting for someone, Lucifer said slowly, “Oh, I’m sure wherever they are they’re very much in,” he pressed his hands together, locking his fingers tightly, “ _ one _ piece.”

Dean snorted. 

“We were all teenagers at some point,” Lucifer finally looked over, “I’m sure if we just check all the beds we’ll eventually find them.”

“That sounds like a dangerous game of hide n’ seek,” Dean cracked a smile, very much not looking forward to what they might find.

“High stakes hide n’ seek is the only kind I play,” Lucifer didn’t even smile back when he said it, the son of bitch managing to keep a perfectly straight face. “But we’ve got to wait until Dad comes down.”

“Is he…?” Dean pointed upwards, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sure he is. So we have to wait. There’s a certain etiquette to these things.”

“Didn’t someone put us in the office to wait last time?” Not that Dean was necessarily hoping to be in the office with that nice solid mahogany desk underneath him again, he was just curious. 

“I was invited last time.”

Made sense, or at least sense enough that Dean let it go, even if he couldn’t imagine any normal family making their kids wait in the lobby like their home was some kind of doctor’s office.

Two very long minutes later Dean grew tired of watching the man beside him gnawing on his thumbnail while anxiously watching the top of the stairs. Dean took a shuffling side step into the other man, slipping an arm around his waist beneath his jacket, his wrist brushing the butt of Lucifer’s gun. 

The man’s whole body instantly went rail tight. Lucifer looked at Dean through slitted eyes. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m still very bad at waiting… just like last time we were here.”

Lucifer hummed an irritated little laugh, his lips a thin, right line. “What happened to following my lead?”

“I am,” Dean insisted. “Your antsy waiting clearly said ‘hey, come closer and hold me’.”

“I’m not antsy. I’m never antsy.”

“Course you’re not, babe,” Dean agreed in the most grating way that he could because it clearly annoyed Lucifer, which was better than the guy jumping at every soft creak of floorboard over their heads. “And you  _ never _ bite your nails, and you love coming home to spend quality time with your family, and you’re not still completely exhausted after this last week bent over your stupid latin books.”

“You’re my bodyguard, not my therapist, Dean.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “My version of therapy is a half bottle of whiskey and maybe throwing rocks through old windows.”

“I hate that that doesn’t sound half bad,” Lu sighed, relaxing a touch.

“Next time we’ve got a free night, babe, I know where there’s some abandoned warehouses with lots of very smashable windows.”

Lucifer’s other hand came to rest on Dean’s chest, pushing just hard enough to keep their bodies apart. “I’ll consider it, sugar pants.”

Dean made an incredibly unattractive noise that he was not proud of, cringing at the chosen pet name. He didn’t get a chance to ask if he could please have a different one, as a door opened upstairs and Lucifer’s whole body tensed up again. 

He pushed away from Dean as fast as two teenagers who’d been caught kissing, fast enough that they were still both getting their feet properly under them as Marlon came down the stairs.

The family patriarch wore a bemused smile that far too closely resembled Lucifer’s in unexpected ways. “When Gadreel said my favorite child was waiting for me downstairs I wasn’t sure who to expect.”

Lucifer shifted beside Dean, jamming his hands down into his pockets. “It’s just me.” 

“I can see that,” Marlon chuckled. “And to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I’m caught up on all my work and I thought I could use a little vacation.”

Marlon cocked an eyebrow. “You want to stay  _ here _ ?” 

Lucifer shrugged. “ Why not?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Stay as long as you like―both of you. I’ll have someone set up a couple of rooms and put your things away,” Marlon glanced at the bags looking so very out of place beside the stairs, stepping around them. 

A  _ couple _ of rooms.

Dean wondered if Marlon meant ‘seperate’ rooms, and if so, Dean really wondered how long Lucifer would let that fly. 

“Have you boys had breakfast yet?” Marlon asked, his smile flitting back into place as Lucifer shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? Go get yourselfs something to eat. I’ve got to head into the city for most of the day, otherwise I’d join you, but we’ll have drinks together tonight.”

“Do I have to?” Lucifer asked in a way that barely missed sounding like a whine.

“Not you. Just him,” Marlon dipped his head in Dean’s direction, “Consider it the cost of admission. I think it’s only fair, as your father, that I take a chance to get to know all these strapping young men that my boys keep bringing home.”

Lucifer didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, which was unfortunate because it left the responsibility of an answer up to Dean. 

“Oh, you’re on, pops” Dean said through a grin, even as his stomach dropped. 

“I look forward to it,” Marlon said in a way that wasn’t too horribly ominous, before walking around the men and leaving through the front door. 

The moment the door latched closed, Lucifer turned to Dean, his shoes squeaking sharply. “ _ You’re on _ ?”

“‘No’ didn’t really feel like it was an option.”

“Really, because you say it to me all the damn time.” 

“Yeah, but…” Dean reached for a good explanation to his actions and came up with a weak, “he’s creepy as fuck.”

“So you’re going to have drinks with him tonight?”

“Was there another option?”

“It always starts with drinks,” Lucifer shifted his eyes to the door, lowering his voice, “and then you’re going riding with him, and then you two start sharing inside jokes and casual touches, and then you’re telling me he’s not that bad, he’s so good with animals and children, and he was an actual angel―so clearly he’s not nearly as much of a manipulative evil bastard as I seem to think he is, and you two have decided to try living together.”

Dean lightly put a hand on the man’s arm. “You’re getting a little too specific there, Luci.”

“It’s what he does,” Lucifer insisted. “Dad gets what he wants. Even when what he wants is people.” He pushed his hands through his hair and sighed like a growl. Folding his hands behind his head, peering past his elbows at Dean, demanded with no heat behind it, “Swear to me you won’t sleep with my dad.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Swear it.”

Dean placed a hand over his heart, not at all sure why he continued to indulge Lucifer’s little moments of insanity. “I solemnly swear I won’t bone down with your Dad.”

Lucifer’s lip curled. “Your word choices sometimes. I just…” he blew out a sharp breath and shook his head.

“You like it.”

“I like when you’re quiet,” he countered softly. “I also like when you don’t agree to a date with my dad.”

“It’s only drinks, and I promise not to enjoy myself one bit.” Even though Dean was joking, hoping to get a smile out of the other man, he really did mean it. No part of him was looking forward to alone time with Marlon. “You know it’s not a date though. He just wants to get to know his favorite child’s newest boyfriend.”

That finally got a rough chuckle out of the man. He reached out to Dean, giving him a shove towards the stairs. “Come on. I’m sure the boys are still in bed, and I’m actually looking forward to watching you yell at someone other than me for a change.”

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see, I'm out here in my own little world, writing during the day and playing Animal Crossing at night, and not even thinking about the fact that I haven't updated in weeks T_T  
> Sorry, buddies.   
> Me writing pages and pages does you no good if I'm not posting them.
> 
> Have a fat chapter, with only small amounts of our boys getting their snuggle on, and know that in a couple days I'll try and remember to get the next chapter edited and posted as my holiday present to y'all  
> So little plot and so much man snuggles and drunk kisses coming up in the next 2 chapters, so.. there's that to look forward to XD
> 
> Hope you're all as well as can be.   
> thanks as always for reading, and comments and just good vibes <3

Horny teenagers, as it turned out, were fairly predictable. Lucifer led the way to the second floor, down a bend in the hall, to where he promised used to be Gabriel’s childhood bedroom. Not even bothering to knock, the man simply pushed the door open and held it for Dean like a gentleman. 

And there their brothers were, wrestling on the bed. Real wrestling though, not a euphemism, the two young men laughing and trying to get one another into a headlock.

Dean paused with a pang of discomfort until he realised what he was looking at, then stormed into the room. Sam didn’t even notice that he’d been caught until Dean grabbed him by the ear and hauled him off the bed. 

“Ow, ow, ow! Oh fuck,” Sam’s eyes went wide once he realised who was pulling him to the center of the room, “Dean! What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here, you little shit?” He let go of Sam’s ear, but pushed the kid’s head. “I told you no.”

Sam held a hand over his ear, glowering up through his curtain of hair. “Wow, you sound like Dad.”

Dean set his jaw, struggling not to lose focus. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is here?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m really taking my life in my hands sleeping in, eating three meals a day, and having sex on the beach.”

“We only made that mistake once,” Gabriel added with a big smile like he really thought he was helping, “sand in all the bad places. Can’t recommend.”

Sam stood a little taller, a puppy dog pout settling into place. “I’m perfectly safe here, Dean. You worry too much.”

The kid had a point, and almost instantly Dean felt guilty for the overreaction. 

Clearly Sam was fine.

Dean had gotten himself worked up for nothing. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here just to check on me,” Sam insisted. “Go on home. I’m sure you’d rather be back in the city, relaxing in your own place.” 

“Yeah,” Dean found himself admitting, “I really don’t wanna’ stay out here babysitting your ass.” He turned back towards Lucifer, still standing in the hall. “I know you’d rather be pretty much anywhere else.”

“Dean,” the blond said in a flat tone as he folded his arms over his chest, “your brother’s poking around in your head again.”

Even though Dean hadn’t felt the fog of magic settling over him, he certainly felt when it lifted, and he tturned back to his brother with a breathy, furious laugh. “Oh, you bitch. There’s rules, Sammy. You don’t play those kinds of bullshit games with me. Not with family.” 

“It was just a harmless push,” Sam showed not even a sliver of guilt as he tried to excuse himself. “You’re overreacting,  _ again _ .”

“The fact that I’m not dragging your gangly ass outside right now is an  _ under _ reaction. You don’t know this family. You don’t know just how fucking stupid it is to come out here and let your guard down.”

“I’m fine,” Sam nearly yelled, “and also screw you. The Williams have been nothing but nice to me. They gave me a job and a place to stay. They’re good people.”

Dean felt his shoulders sag. Sam had a point. The kid had been living in a hostel, on the wrong side of town barely a week before. Maybe circumstances weren’t ideal, but they really weren’t bad either. Sam was safe and he was happy, and Dean really didn’t have a good reason to be so upset about all of it.

“Dean,” Lucifer’s voice was low and sharp, “he’s doing it again. Stay focused. We’re terrible people and you know it.”

The fog fell away even faster the second time, vanishing in the heat of Dean’s anger. “Again?  _ Again _ ? You son of a bitch. If you weren't my brother I’d beat the shit out of you right now.”

Losing most of his usual bounce, Gabriel gently said, “Sam, as much as I love to see a good fight, maybe no more pushing on your brother. He has a gun.”

“He doesn’t have a gun,” Sam laughed, the sound trailing off quickly, however, as Dean pulled open his jacket enough to show the holster straps hooking around one shoulder. “Ok, but I did it only like four or five times, and not over anything big.”

“Four or  _ five _ ?” Where as Dean hadn’t actually been considering shooting Sammy, especially not over something this petty and stupid, he might be persuaded to change his mind. 

“I had to make sure you were ok with me and Gabe,” Sam didn’t sound even remotely apologetic about it. “So… little things to you, big things to me I guess. Don’t look at me like that, Dean. I’m not going to say sorry about it.”

“Christ,” Dean ran his hands over his face. “You don’t get to decide what’s ‘big’ or ‘little’ when it comes to other people’s brains, Sammy, and I’m the last fucking person qualified to give you this talk.”

“How is me pushing you off so I can go on vacation any worse than half the things you did when we were kids?”

“It’s different because we never did it to each other,” Dean pointed out, not missing a beat. “You fucking stay out of my head or I will kick your ass so hard you’ll wish you never left Texas.”

Sam folded his arms over his narrow chest, standing his ground in a way that would have made Dean proud under other circumstances. 

“Promise me, kid,” Dean insisted, “and while you’re at it, promise that cute little boyfriend of yours that you’ll stay out of his head from now on too.”

“I’ve never messed around in Gabe’s head.”

“You sure?” Dean almost believed his brother, but he was trying to make a point. “Not even for one little thing... or four, or five little things? No matter what you say I’m not gonna believe it. If you’re willing to fuck around in the head of your own brother, what’s gonna stop you form using a little well placed push or two to get a cute little thing like him in bed?”

It was the sort of suggestion that took a moment to fully worm its way under Sam’s skin, the kid’s face slowly going pale. “I-I wouldn’t. I swear,” he turned to Gabriel, insisting, “I didn’t. You have to believe me.”

Startling the whole room with a bubbling giggle of laughter, Gabriel shook his head. “Course you didn’t, Sammich. With how hard I had to work to get you out of your pants? Besides, I’m immune to that kind of magic.”

“No you’re not, you idiot.” Though Lucifer hadn’t contributed all that much to the argument as a whole, the words he did choose to add seemed carefully selected. 

“I am too,” Gabriel argued, “Just like you.”

Lucifer huffed out a soft laugh. “I’m not immune, Gabe. Your boyfriend’s just weak.”

“ _ Hey _ !” Both Gabriel and Sam protested in unison. 

“You are,” Lucifer put it simply. “Come back at me in a few years, kid, after you’ve had some practice, and I’m sure you’ll be able to knock my socks off. For now though, you’re just a liability.”

Sam stammered.

Lucifer went on, “Because of you, I was dragged all the way out here, to my least favorite place in the world, first thing in the morning, without even a cup of coffee first, all because my bodyguard couldn’t function until he made sure his painfully naive little brother was safe.” He reached out to Dean, sighing in his usual dramatic way. “Can you finish yelling at him after we’ve had some breakfast?” He swallowed a little hard, and when he spoke again in was in a whisper meant only for the two of them, “I may have done a bit of pushing on you brother to make him tell the truth, and I probably shouldn’t have. This past week is starting to catch up with me.”

Living with Lucifer demanded a whole lot of sudden shift in mood, and Dean still wasn’t quite used to it. 

“Am I guarding your body against the dangers of low blood sugar again, princess?” Dean asked like it pained him, the teasing to mask the sudden concern that this idiot had just been doing the same thing to Sam that Dean had come all the way out here to yell at Sam for. 

“I don’t want to be pushy, but it is your job,” Lucifer pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, looking back at his brother. “I’m sticking around for the next couple days to make sure you don’t do anything else stupid.”

For once, Sam didn’t complain about not needing a babysitter, he was too busy taking Gabriel’s hands and making the sorts of soft, stupid promises about never lying and never doing anything wrong. The sorts of promises that only teenagers were dumb enough to make and honestly think that they could keep. 

With a soft sound of disgust, Dean nudged Lucifer out into the hall, closing the door behind them. “I don’t think I was ever that stupid.”

“We were all that stupid,” Lucifer argued with a soft smile, “and if you try to tell me different then you’re lying.”

“See, but now you’ve got me imagining you as a dumbass teenager,” Dean began following the other man, presumably towards a late breakfast. “I bet you were adorable.”

“Not nearly as cute as those two,” Lucifer admitted, taking the stairs with a lot more caution than they seemed to deserve, keeping one hand firmly on the railing at all times, “and not as cute as you when you get all mad.”

Dean watched the other man’s unusually delicate steps, frowning as he had to slow his own walking otherwise he’d pass Lucifer up and beat him to the ground floor.

Though it took what felt like twice as long as it should, they reached the final step. Apparently Lucifer hadn’t been expecting it to come so soon and the man went stumbling, one knee buckling beneath him as he made no effort at all to catch himself. 

Some unplanned profanity escaped Dean as he dove to catch Lucifer, arms wrapping around the man’s waist and pulling him back hard so that they both ended up in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. Dean took the brunt of the impact, falling hard with a lap full of a clearly unconscious Lucifer. 

The blond had gone completely ragdoll, his pale eyes narrowed to unfocused slits, and no signs of life other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“Hey, hey, Luci,” Dean shook the other man, gently at first, then harder. “Come one, man. Wake up.”

No response.

Dean, not being a doctor, and not having a clue what had just happened, did the only thing he could think of. “Need some help down here!” He yelled back up the stairs, hoping someone in the big house was close enough to hear him. 

Of all people that could have answered the call, it was Gadreel that came racing down the stairs two at a time, but he slowed as he drew closer. 

Sighing irritably, Gadreel crouched down beside them and asked, “What did he do to himself this time?”

“I don’t know,” Dean tried to match the calm in the other man’s voice, but his chest was tight with worry. “One minute he’s joking about stupid teenagers, the next he’s trying to go face first down the stairs.”

Gadreel reached out and took his brother’s face between his hands, gently smoothing his thumbs over Lucifer’s eyelids to close them. After a moment of thoughtful quiet, he finally announced, “He’s just sleeping. It’s fine.”

“ _ Just _ ?” Dean laughed sharp and disbelieving. “I sleep next to the guy every night. This isn’t normal or fine.”

“Has he been using any heavy magic recently?” Gadreel drew his hands back, still crouching on the bottom step beside Dean. 

“Maybe?”

“Maybe is not a real answer.”

“I don’t know, alright. He spent a week getting caught up on whatever the hell ‘work’ is, and he wasn’t exactly narrating the spells as he went, you know. It mostly looked like lots of reading old books, bleeding himself, and not eating when I told him to… and then he might have been doing a little something upstairs a few minutes ago. ”

Gadreel nodded like none of this sounded surprising. 

Dean held Lucifer a little tighter, not feeling at all reassured.

Even though the protective little hug was a small movement, Gadreel was more than close enough to notice it, and it brought a hint of a smile to the edges of his mouth. “I’m guessing no one took you aside when they brought you on, and explained that Lucifer actively tries to work himself to death once a month or so?”

“Wasn’t exactly covered in the new employee orientation, no.”

Gadreel stood, holding his arms out towards the unconscious man between them. “Come on. I can help you get him to bed. He just needs a couple days of sleep and he’ll be back to his usual, irritating self.”

Between the two of them, they managed to carry Lucifer back up the stairs, hooking down one of the many branching hallways and into a bedroom. 

“This is the room he always stays in when he gets stuck here overnight,” Gadreel offered as he unceremoniously dumped Lucifer onto a spacious bed. “Has since he was a kid. He’ll be fine.”

Dean still wasn’t fully convinced. He also wasn’t ok just leaving Lucifer dumped on top of the blankets like a discarded doll, especially not with his shoes and tie still on. The man would never forgive him. So, Dean partially undressed his boss, setting aside shoes and tie, before pulling the blankets up over Lucifer―all the while, very aware of the fact that he had an audience. 

Gadreel watched Dean playing nurse without a single comment, a calm presence standing beside the foot of the bed like a statue. 

“Should we call a doctor or somethin’?” Dean asked, smoothing the blankets over Lucifer’s chest.

“We can, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Lucifer shifted under Dean’s hands, mumbling sleepily, “Go fuck... yourself, Gadreel. I don’t… don’t need a doctor.”

Dean laughed in relief. “Hey, Luci. You alright?”

But the blond’s eyes were still closed and he didn’t answer.

“He’ll probably drift in and out from time to time,” Gadreel explained with a nod to his brother. “Mostly out though. That’s how it usually goes.” 

The lack of distress on the other man, and his reassuring words, oddly didn’t help Dean be more ok with this. 

Dean was a man of action. 

He, honest to god, was not good at sitting around doing nothing, and it killed part of him that ‘nothing’ might be his only choice for the time being. 

“So, Lu just does this sometimes?”

“Sometimes,” Gadreel agreed, then added, “It was a fairly regular occurrence for him when he was a child and first coming into his magic. As an adult he seems to prefer burning himself out every couple weeks or so―or at least that’s what I’ve heard through family gossip.”

Which confirmed most of what Dean had been piecing together. 

It didn’t help him feel better about any of it, but at least it pointed to this being a regular (but stupid) problem of Lucifer’s, that probably wouldn’t be changing any time soon. 

He sighed, leaning back against the corner of the tall, antique headboard. “Hey,” he started, glancing up from his self destructive boss, to Gadreel, “thanks for helping me haul him up here.”

“It gave me an excuse to talk to you again.”

An unexpected little confession that brought a bit of warmth to Dean’s insides. He chuckled and glanced down at the carpet. “Doesn’t have to be a body on the floor for you to have an excuse.”

The man’s steady gaze left Dean’s face to slowly roam over his body. “If you haven’t already had a chance, can I offer you a quick tour of the house… or at least a tour of your bedroom?” He tipped his head towards the door, a tiny motion that held so much offer, so much promise.

Dean grinned, a hungry heat pooling low in his stomach. He let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head in disappointment at what he had to say, “I wish I could. I  _ really _ wish I could. But, bodyguard duty calls.” He flicked a hand towards the man sleeping deeply in the heap that they’d dropped him. 

“I’ll say it again, that pretty face of yours is wasted on him.” Gadreel cast a resentful look at his brother, and sighed softly before flashing a small smile at Dean. “If you eventually get tired of watching him sleep, I’m only a few rooms away.”

Dean watched the tall, solemn man leave, and let his mind wander over all the potential in that offer left between them. He didn’t know the man, but he didn’t need to in order to imagine what would happen if they could pick back up where they’d left off. Sense memories that blended together too easily with every other quickie that Dean had had over the past few years. 

There was nothing new, or special, about Gadreel, except that he was available. 

“Ah, you son of a bitch,” Dean sat on the edge of the bed with a  _ whoosh _ of breath, reaching out to smooth the wrinkles he’d made in the blankets. “You wouldn’t even be happy that I’m following your fuckin’ unfair rules. You’d just be pissy at me for considering breaking them.”

It was all part of the job. 

Sometimes the job was real stupid.

Other times it meant that he got to have dinner with his brother, with Sam muttering apologise for earlier, then joking around and smiling, and being every inch an overgrown version of the little kid that Dean had known a lifetime before. 

Gabriel wasn’t at all surprised at Lucifer’s absence. Apparently these occasional catatonic states were so normal that they didn’t warrant much more than an annoyed, “Again?” from Gabriel. “I’d say you could hang out with us so you’re not bored, but I have a feeling that Sam wouldn’t be into letting you join our week long sex-a-thon.”

“He’s my brother!” Sam nearly dropped his fork. “I can’t do it with him in the room.”

Dean waved a hand in Gabriel’s direction, cutting the kid off before he could clarify, or try and add anything else. “Nope. Nuhah. I’m just gonna keep an eye on Luci. If he’s really asleep for a few days, then it’ll be my own personal little vacation from the bastard.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “There’s a library, if you still like reading. Or an indoor pool that feels amazing if you want to go for a night swim. And there’s the horses―you’ve got to ask first, but there’s tons of room to ride. There’s also walking trails down to the beach, or into the woods.”

“You don’t gotta sell me on it, Sammy. I’m already here.”

“Well, you made it pretty clear this morning that you didn’t want to be here.” Sam smiled charmingly, hopeful, “but it’s actually pretty awesome.”

Almost anywhere would easily qualify as ‘awesome’ in comparison to how they’d grown up, so Dean wouldn't argue with the kid. Instead he gave an exasperated smile and a promise of, “I’ll find things to keep myself busy. Don’t worry.”

Sam wouldn’t worry.

Sam didn’t know enough of what was going on around him to worry. 

Unlike Dean, who knew just enough to have to swallow down a bubble of nervous laughter when a maid came and found him later that evening to tell him that Marlon was waiting for him downstairs in the den. 

With a little direction from the maid, Dean found his way to one of the many rooms of the house that he’d never been to. It was nothing at all what a blue collar type like Dean would instinctively call a ‘den’ or anything nearly as casual, but he could see that from a wealthy person’s point of view, that it was a comfortable space, almost cozy.

Almost. 

The thick rug muffled Dean’s foot falls, and the gas lit chandelier gave the rich furnishings a red glow. The paintings on the walls and the packed bookcases were all washed in the same warm light. Old books and antique guns sat on top of a carved fireplace, shadowed by a truly impressive mounted deer head. 

Marlon was settled in on an antique sofa, facing the crackling fire, balancing a glass of liquor on one knee. No tie in sight, and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, Marlon looked halfway between the carefully put together man who’d invited Lucifer for a threatening dinner weeks before, and the stablehand who had chatted so easily with Dean before letting him take one of the horses out for a ride. 

“Nice room you got here, Dad,” Dean tucked away his own uncertainty and discomfort over the whole ‘date’ and decided to jump in with both feet. Closing the door behind him, he made his way to the couch, nodding towards the deer on the wall. “You shoot that yourself?”

Marlon wore a small smile, looking fairly charmed. “No. Michael did.”

“Yeah?” Dean sat on the far edge of the couch, trying to keep the movement relaxed, but his spine was straight as a rail. “Guy didn’t strike me as a hunter.”

“He and I only went hunting once. He was incredibly proud of himself at the time, his first time out and he killed a sixteen-point buck, but once we brought the head back one of the other boys convinced Michael it was haunted and it’s been banished to my den ever since.”

Dean cracked a smile.

“Do you hunt?” 

“Never really got a feel for it,” Dean admitted, deciding not to lie about it. 

Slowly, he reached for the second glass and the bottle that were set out on a low table beside them. 

Marlon nodded, giving permission. He watched Dean pour his drink, waiting, clearly expecting something. 

Usually Dean felt pretty confident in his ability to read other people, but Marlon wasn’t offering much and it left Dean with a lot of room for guessing. 

He took a sip of his drink, not even sure what it was until the brown liquor hit the back of his tongue. Scotch. Expensive scotch. It tasted like heaven. 

Dean let his shoulders relax, leaning back into the couch just a touch. “Don’t get me wrong. I got my first gun when I was eight and my dad took me shooting every night after dinner. I just never really liked the idea of sneaking up on some unsuspecting deer or duck and putting a bullet in ‘em. It’s not exactly a fair fight.”

“A fair fight? I’ve never heard it quite put that way before.” Marlon chuckled softly, watching Dean like he’d found a curious new species. “ How much would I need to pay you to leave my son and come work for me?” He asked like a man would ask the cost of a haircut. 

Startled, and with no prepared answer on hand, Dean fumbled for an answer, looking into his glass to hide a frown. “I’m pretty happy where I am.” 

And where Dean was, was sitting on the sidelines, playing house with Lucifer, and turning down a hypothetical job offer from the man who the FBI had sent Dean to get close to. Being undercover was a complicated song and dance though. Yes, Dean needed to get dug in deep with the family, to put himself in a place of trust and dig up dirt on Marlon. 

But he didn’t want to come off too eager.

Six years undercover and he was worried about looking eager?

Dean didn’t believe his own lies anymore, but he also didn’t have time right then to assess his own reasons for turning down the offer so quickly.

“I love my son,” Marlong said gently, “but I’m not certain that I’ve heard anyone use the term ‘happy’ when referring to their relationship with him.”

Dean shrugged. 

“How long have you two been together?”

“Since he got shot…” Dean chuckled softly, suddenly realising that ‘together’ came with different interpretations and that his answer might be taken as him and Lucifer sleeping together since the night they met. A large lie that Dean might get in trouble for later. Shifting away from his own stupid answer, he clarified by adding, “the first time you had him shot.”

With a hint of a smile that brought out the gentle crow’s feet on the edges of his eyes, Marlon said, “How very bold of you to assume we know each other well enough to throw around murder accusation.”

Dean shrugged again, leaning forward to top off his own glass. “You’re the one who called ‘em warning shots. I was just reading between the lines.”

“ _ Very _ bold,” Marlon repeated in that same amused tone. “So, only since the first time I tried to set Lucifer back on track...that’s less than a month’s time together. Don’t you think you two are moving rather fast?”

“What can I say, pops. The heart wants what the heart wants.” It was a hell of a lot of confidence in one singular statement, which Dean instantly regretted.

“And the heart in question wants my son?”

It was a bad lie that he was building for himself, and Dean silently dreaded when Lucifer would inevitably wake up and start lecturing the hell out of him. Not only were the two of them sleeping together, but with a few cocky words now they were also romantically involved. 

Lucifer was going to be pissed.

“He’s got a certain unexpected charm,” Dean lied with a grin.

“The same could be said for yourself.”

Dean laughed in surprise, waving off the compliment and inwardly shrinking away under the weight of Marlon’s smile. 

“And your brother,” Marlon added softly, raising his drink in a small toast before emptying it. “Sam and I had an interesting chat the night after he and Gabriel arrived.”

That feeling in Dean’s guts instantly turned to an awful writhing like he had a stomach full of worms. “Yeah? I guess he’s got that awkward puppy thing going for him.”

“He’s very,” Marlon paused as he searched for the word he wanted, “earnest.”

“That’s my Sammy alright.” Dean grinned because he thought that’s what the other man was looking for and it would be a lot less incriminating than cringing and asking ‘what did he tell you?’. “Hope the kid didn’t talk your ear off. He has a hard time shutting up once he gets going.”

“Especially after a drink or two.”

“Drinks?” Dean let out a pained laugh, shaking his head, wishing that he’d put Sam on a train back to Texas weeks ago. “So, I’m guessing in all his chatting that he left out the fact he’s only fifteen?”

It was almost nice to see that Marlon could be surprised. His eyes widening ever so slightly and making him seem almost human for a moment. “ _ Fifteen _ ?”

“Or somewhere around there,” Dean waved his drink dismissively, the specifics weren’t all that important. 

“No. We didn’t touch on his age.” Marlon schooled his face back to something neutral. “Mostly we talked about you.”

If Dean hadn’t already been halfway to a full blown panic, the other man’s words assured that he was far past the point of no return.

“Oh,” he chuckled and hoped that Marlon was buying it. “So a real snooze-fest then.”

“Not at all. Older brothers can often become godlike in the eyes of a young boy. Sam was very devout when he talked about his childhood and his fearless, unstoppable brother Dean Winchester.”

Somewhere in a highschool science class, what felt like a million years before, there had been a passage in a battered textbook about the sympathetic nervous system. The memory only stuck with Dean because his study partner had made him repeat every word of the section twice over before she’d make out with him. The human body had a bundle of nerves at the base of the spine that was in charge of involuntary responses to dangerous situations, sending a flood of adrenaline into the system and triggering the fight or flight response. 

It had all sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo scientific bullshit up until the first time Dean found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. 

This was that first time all over again, except instead of a .35 Rugar, it was a middle aged man with piercing blue eyes who knew Dean’s real last name.

Dean Smith had been an orphan in the Texas foster system, dropped out of high school, had a string of misdemeanors and two felonies against him before he came to New York and started working as a bouncer at a club owned by Benny, to later work his way up into the vampire’s inner circle.

Dean  _ Winchester _ , however, was the oldest of two sons, born to some fairly unethical monster hunters, who’d run away from home at seventeen with a plan to use what little magic he had in him to try and help people, and manage to graduate at the top of his class in the FBI. That last fact had supposedly been changed in any publicly accessible records to show that Dean Winchester had been kicked out of training after only two miserable months.

There was no way to tell if Marlon had run any kind of background check on Dean―either version of Dean. Just like there was no way to tell what beans Sam might have spilled, and how his stories might have conflicted with anything that Marlon may or may not have found out on his own.

Dean shifted uneasily, feeling the straps of his shoulder holster digging in. He put on his best poker face, hiding his panic behind a grin. “I haven't seen the kid since he was eight, so his stories are gonna be a little out’a date… or completely wrong.” 

“Are you trying to tell me that you never put on a cape and jumped off the barn because you were sure you could fly?”

Dean laughed, leaning back and crossing his ankles in an attempt to look as relaxed and comfortable as possible. “Not my proudest moment, but surprisingly no broken bones. I’m sure with all the boys you’ve got, that you’ve seen your fair share of really stupid injuries.”

Marlon smiled, laughter making his eyes bright, and it seemed somehow a far more genuine display of happiness than before. “I could probably keep you up all night talking about the reckless things my children have done, and still not have told you a fraction of my stories.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” Dean drawled, feeling some of the tightness in his chest lifting as they changed the conversation away from himself so easily. “What is your most embarrassing story about Luci when he was a kid?”

“I have to pick only one?” Marlon’s gaze became distant as he reached up to idly tug at his lower lip. “I think I’d go with when he was twelve or thirteen, one of his older brothers was painting a model ship and was using an old jar for the turpentine. Lucifer apparently thought the jar was full of grape juice and he picked it up and drank most of it.”

“Shouldn’t he have smelled that it was off or something before it got all the way to his mouth?” Dean had been hoping for a story of Lu attempting to sled down the big flight of stairs, or coloring himself with markers. The idea of drinking paint thinner was absolutely nauseating. 

“You’d think that the fact it was in a jar would have slowed him down too,” Marlon shook his head with an amused sigh, “but he was always drinking and eating pretty much anything he found lying around. Including loose change, or rocks, or the collar of his shirt. I lost track of how many times we had to call poison control.”

Dean thought of the problems that he had with Lucifer drinking all sorts of dubious potions, and oddly didn’t find it comforting that this was apparently a lifelong problem. 

“Or his and Michael’s fascination with matches and lighters. To avoid getting in trouble they’d play with them in the back of his closet. One time one of them accidentally lit some of the clothes on fire. That was,” Marlon trailed off, rubbing his forehead and chuckling softly, “it was quite a mess to come home to. They managed to put out the fire, but didn’t quite manage to dispose of the burnt clothes, and I have no idea how they planned to hide the burn marks on the floor and the inside of the closet door.”

“Sam tried to ‘camp’ out in the barn once, up in the loft. He set up the tent all by himself, and even managed to make a campfire… which burned down half the barn.”

Marlon smiled that ‘ah, dumbass kids’ smile, before finishing off his drink and holding it out to Dean. 

Dean eyed the glass, then glanced at the end table and saw that yes, technically he was sitting quite a bit closer to the bottle. So, he got the man a refill, hardly filing the glass halfway before handing it back, and he managed to not even flinch when Marlon’s fingers brushed against his. 

“Are you going to leave out the part of your story where you took the blame for your brother’s fire?” Marlon asked easily, rolling the glass between his hands. “Sam was almost reverent when he told that part of the story.”

Sam had been only six when it happened, Dean honestly didn’t think that his brother would have remembered it. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, “he was just a kid. Dad probably would have killed him. I was a lot more used to being in trouble.”

“Really? That wasn’t the impression I got from Sam. He said you were the good son, always fixing things, cooking meals, bringing home and patching up stray animals that had gotten hurt.”

Those allegations brought an unexpected ache to Dean’s chest. 

Sam had been just a kid. He wasn’t supposed to remember all that.

Smiling through the pang of nostalgia, Dean brushed it all off. “Like I said, he was a little kid when I left. Sam was always a big book nerd and he probably just got me confused with some of the heroes from his stories. I wasn’t anything more than an average teenage fuck up.”

“And so modest too.” Marlon hadn’t had a single drop of his second drink. The man simply kept lightly swirling the glass, letting the ice softly rattle, the noise almost lost under the crackle of the fire. “Are you sure that you won’t come work for me? I’m always on the lookout for capable people, especially ones with such glowing recommendations from their younger brothers, and with such promising magic as well.”

“Hate to break it to you, pops,” Dean held open his arms with a laugh, “I don’t know what you heard from Sam, or from anyone else, but I’m just a regular, boring old human.”

Marlon leaned over to set his drink on the table, before turning to face Dean full on, tucking one leg up onto the couch. Looking less like someone’s middle aged father and more like a male model waiting for a photographer, Marlon cocked his head and regarded Dean for a long moment, before finally asking, “Really?”

“Really, really,” Dean promised with a self deprecating laugh. “Only thing I’ve got goin’ for me is that I’m lucky enough not to have gotten myself killed yet.”

Marlon held a hand out to Dean, the same sort of quiet expectancy as when he’d asked for another drink. Only he wasn’t holding a glass out, and Dean wasn’t certain what the other man was asking for. 

“You hand,” Marlon finally said, with a hint of amusement as if he’d been so easily reading the confusion that must have shown cleanly on Dean’s face, “if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not a holding hands on the first date kinda guy.”

“No, you strike me as someone far more direct, someone who wouldn’t waste his time holding hands when he knew what he really wanted. So am I.” Marlon’s hand stayed so very steady as he waited. “Luckily for both of us, this is not a date, and all I want is to check something.”

Dean didn’t know what Marlon was. 

Just like he didn’t know what Lucifer was. 

If flippant comments made by the man’s family could be believed, then Lucifer was half angel and half demon―only Dean didn’t really believe in either of those things. Well, maybe demons. There was some very strong evidence pointing towards them being real, though Dean didn’t think that he’d ever encountered one directly. 

It all left the question of what Marlon really was more than a little nebulous, which meant that Dean had no clue what to expect, what sort of magic the man had at his disposal, what he might be able to do if he had skin on skin contact with Dean.

Grinning and trying to steer the other man away from the topic, Dean teased, “You wanna check to see if my nails are clean? Because I swear, Lu does that to me a couple times a day. That, and straightening my tie. Seeing how nice you dress, I’m guessing he gets that all buttoned up habit of his from you.”

“Taking care of yourself is a good habit for anyone to have.” Marlon nodded, watching Dean for a moment longer before picking back up his glass and taking a sip. “I can see that you’ve made some changes to your own wardrobe since your first visit. Can I assume I have my son to thank for that?”

“Yeah,” Dean straightened his cuffs, feeling a flicker of pride. “He took me to get fitted a couple weeks back, said he couldn’t live with the fact that I only owned one suit. I think I clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myself.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Marlon laughed softly, his gaze wandering a little too slowly over Dean, before he finally stood and went to put another log on the fire. “How is my son doing?” He asked over his shoulder, using the poker to stir the embers and get the new log to catch. “I heard that he had another one of his episodes.”

“If that’s what you call passing out on the stairs and then not waking up again, sure. Lucifer had an episode.” Dean tossed back the rest of his drink, feeling that smooth, comforting burn make its way through his system. “Gadreel said it’s normal. So did Gabe. So did the family  _ nurse _ ,” Dean let the word hook up in a question, “when she came by and gave him an IV so he doesn’t get dehydrated?”

Marlon nodded, leaning against the mantle and pulling off that free range male model trick again. “I would go check on him, but he hates when I do that.”

“He probably wouldn’t notice,” Dean glanced back towards the door, thinking about the man he’d left asleep upstairs. “I took off my tie this afternoon and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

“Are you worried about him?”

Dean looked back over and offered a shrug and a smile. “It is my job.”

“Well, then I won’t keep you,” he dipped his head and offered, “but I could use you tomorrow morning. The children wanted to go riding and an experienced hand would be welcome help.”

It wasn’t like Dean actually had any plans set other than sitting beside a sleeping Lucifer, which didn’t actually sound nearly as nice as spending some time with horses. “I… I’m not really any good with kids,” and also Dean didn’t quite feel like he had firm enough footing with Marlon to spend a whole morning with him. 

The smile lines on the older man’s face deepend. “I meant Gabriel and Sam.”

That changed things. Sam shouldn’t be left alone, or even partially alone, with Marlon under any circumstances. It was practically Dean’s responsibility as an older brother to go along with them for a ride tomorrow.

“Oh, well that’s different.” Dean set his glass down, getting to his feet. “Yeah. I’d love to come.”

Marlon nodded again. “The stables tomorrow at ten then.”

Dean made it almost all the way back to Lucifer’s room before he realised that he’d set himself up for a second date with Marlon―with his  _ ‘boyfriend’s’ _ dad. With a ‘boyfriend’ who was going to eventually wake up and be pissed at the very fake relationship that Dean was building for them. 

The upstairs was quiet, dark, and cold after sitting for so long beside a fire. Hurrying his steps to outrun the chill, Dean made his way down the two bends in the hallway, to the now familiar bedroom where he’d left Lucifer sleeping. 

Only to find that the room was not how he’d left it. Sure, Lu was still sprawled out in bed, and their bags were on the dresser where Dean had left them. The curtains were still open from Dean’s efforts to let in some outside light once he’d noticed there was no electric light in the bedroom. 

The big exception, however, was the broad shouldered man standing beside the bed. 

At first, Dean didn’t recognise the man who had snuck in while he was away. The room was made up of blocky shadows, the intruder included, and the fact that Dean was already on edge after his drink with ‘Dad’ only added to the sudden apprehension. His hand made it halfway to his gun before the man looming over the bed seemed to realise that he’d been caught and turned around. 

With only the faint red glow of the oil lamps in the hall, Dean was able to recognise the handsome lines of Gadreel’s face. He didn’t lower his hand from his gun, but he let go of a fraction of the tension in his shoulders. 

“Hey there, big man,” Dean kept his words casual, even if his tone didn’t quite manage to match, “just comin’ in to check on your brother?”

Gadreel breathed out a gentle chuckle. “You seem about ready to jump out of your skin. I take it the traditional interview ‘drinks with Dad’ went well.”

Dean eased his hand further from his gun and shook his head. “As well as it could I guess. How’s sleeping beauty doing?”

“Sleeping like the dead,” he answered, taking deliberate steps into Dean’s space, gently putting a hand on Dean’s to move it further from his gun. “I doubt much of anything would wake him up.”

“Is that just an observation…” Dean started to smile as the other man traced his thumb up and down over the jutting bone in his wrist, “or are you flirtin’ with me again?”

“Both. Clearly.” Gadreel easily took Dean’s other hand, continuing his slow and steady steps forward until Dean felt the wall at his back, and their bodies lined up warm and solid. 

“I told you, man. I can’t.” Dean sighed, realising that he wasn’t putting up much of a fight at all as he stepped his feet a little wider so that Gadreel’s legs could press between his. 

“You told me you’ve got to watch him,” he reminded, his lips brushing Dean’s as he whispered the words between them like a secret. “You can see him from here.”

“Come on,” Dean laughed, and it came out pained, “I told you, I can’t. Really fuckin’ want to, but I can’t.” He twisted his wrists free and flattened his hands against the other man’s chest with the wavering goal of pushing him away. However, his fingers met something hard and unexpected beneath the other man’s coat and it caught Dean off guard. 

Over the curve of Gadreel’s shoulders were straps, similar to Dean’s own shoulder holster, but the heel of his hand had hit something that most certainly was not a gun. 

Between the liquor and the hormones, his brain was feeling a little scrambled, so Dean’s question came out a little more direct than he intended it to be. “What kind of heat are you packing?”

Gadreel wore a confused small smile just barely visible in the dim, “Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘you show me yours and I’ll show you mine’?”

Dean laughed again, his stomach fluttering as he struggled to stay focused. He maybe had one last ‘no’ left inside him before he gave into that hungry need crawling under his skin and simply went down on the other man. Deliberately Dean moved his hand over the holster straps to find a handle, a familiar shape against his fingers, that his brain was slow to translate. Confused, and desperate for a distraction, he asked, “I meant: what the hell is this?” 

The deep rumble of Gadreel’s laughter raised the hair on the back of Dean’s neck. 

Which felt nice, but certainly didn’t come close to answering the question.

Gadreel so easily leaned his weight into Dean, pinning him against the wall as he trailed his lips down Dean’s jaw and whispered in his ear, “It’s just a knife.”

“That’s… that’s gotta be a really big knife.” 

Gadreel laughed a little harder. 

“You planning to go hunting later, or tracking through some heavy underbrush?” Dean laughed too, honestly caught off guard, because yeah, ok some people in their line of work carried a back up knife (Dean himself had a switchblade on his right boot), but no one actively chose a short range weapon for their main weapon. That was just stupid. “Or Is this just your casual evening machete that you wear while lounging around the house?”

“I had some business to attend to,” he pulled back again, just far enough to look Dean in the eye, “but I got very distracted by my brother’s very good looking bodyguard.”

“Would this be the same good looking bodyguard that promised his boss he wouldn’t sleep with a single member of the Williams’ family?”

The humor in the other man’s face was cut off so clean and quick. Gadreel’s voice went almost completely flat as he asked, “Lucifer really made you promise that?”

“I think he even made me cross my heart and hope to die,” Dean said like an apology as he pushed Gadreel back. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to. But like I said, I  _ can’t _ .”

“You do realise he’s a mean, condescending, asshole of a brother who doesn’t deserve someone loyal, right?” Gadreel didn’t technically ask Dean, as he half turned back to the bed, making the question seem like he expected Lucifer to somehow wake up and answer the insults.

“Not my place to decide who deserves what.” Dean fought back a smile, inwardly wondering if Gadreel had any idea how his irritated pout made him look so very much like Lucifer. “I’m just here doin’ my job―which is frustrating as hell sometimes, but it’s still my job.”

Gadreel, to his credit, didn’t look mad. In the dark of the room he watched Dean with an expression that looked almost like respect. “You’ve got my sympathy, and my invitation for you to come find me if you ever get tired of watching him sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just somewhere down the hall,” Dean grinned in a way he hoped was charming and in no way reflected how he was kicking himself on the inside. What Lucifer didn’t know wouldn’t hurt Dean. The man on the bed didn’t need to know if his bodyguard took Gadreel out for a quick ride.

But, Dean had promised, and trust was important to Lucifer.

For better or worse, the temptation left the room, and left Dean standing in the dark, half hard and fully resentful.

The bedroom had a connected bath, and Dean had just enough decency to take himself in there and close the door before pushing a hand down his pants. It would have been great if he’d kept his thoughts on Gadreel, certainly Dean had enough of a lead up to let his imagination sort out the rest-- but his mind kept violently veering back towards Marlon, and not in a sexy kind of way. In a ‘guy raises every damn red flag I have’ sort of way, and for very good reason. 

Maybe Dean didn’t have the flashy and exciting magic like Sam. What he did have was a very strong survival instinct, an instinct that was telling him that everything about this evening was wrong and dangerous.

Which put a damper on Dean’s ‘alone time’. 

Fixing his clothes and washing his face with cold water, Dean decided it was best to try and get some sleep. He opened the door between rooms and instantly ground to an uneasy stillness.

He couldn’t have been gone for even two minutes, but the bedroom had changed.

Lucifer had moved from his coma patient position, to curled on his side with his blanket in knots. The IV had also been pulled out of Lucifer’s wrist, the medical tape that had held it in place was stuck to the sheets, and the plastic tube dangled down onto the floor and dripped a slowly growing wet spot on the carpet. 

And all of this was painfully clear and easy to see, because on the bedside table was an lit antique hurricane lamp, glowing cheerily and making wavering deep shadows in the corners of the room. Dean had ignored the thing earlier in the day, assuming that it was nothing more than a decoration. 

Where as a bit of light was welcoming after so long in the dark, Dean hadn’t lit the lamp.

It wasn’t necessarily fear that Dean felt, but it also wasn’t anything good, as he rushed to the bed and dug beneath the blankets to fit his hand over Lucifer’s throat. The man was breathing softly, his pulse slow and steady, and what was more―the man flinched away from Dean’s touch. 

“Cold hands,” Lucifer mumbled, his shoulder butting up to try and brush Dean away in the most pitifully weak sign of resistance. 

“Yeah, sorry.” Relief sank in Dean’s stomach like a stone. “Just washed ‘em. Did you get the light, Luci?”

“It was dark,” he mumbled back, not opening his eyes, hardly moving his lips.

Even if Dean had strong doubts that the lump hiding under the blankets had been capable of doing anything as athletic as turning on a light, there weren’t any other viable explanations. Irritated at his boss, like always, Dean pulled the man’s blankets back up, leaving only the top of his head visible.

Dean turned to look at the IV poll and sighed. “You pull this out too?”

No answer.

“You idiot,” Dean said to no one in particular, gathering up the loose bit of tube and clicking closed the little plastic clamp so the dripping would stop. He wasn’t big on any kind of medical anything, had never once been inside of a hospital, and didn’t plan to. The nurse who had visited that afternoon had been very reasonable though, which was something that Lucifer clearly wasn’t. 

Pulling more blankets up from the foot of the bed, Dean gently threatened, “If you die of dehydration I’m gonna be pissed.”

Lucifer slept on.

The jerk.

Much earlier in the day, Dean had planned to sleep in his own bedroom for the night, maybe get to stretch out and enjoy a big comfortable bed all to himself for a change. However, like all of Dean’s best self indulgent plans, he had to let it go. 

So, the door was locked, shoes kicked off, suit hung up, lamp wick trimmed until it let off only the softest glow, and Dean crawled into bed beside Lucifer. 

Though Dean still felt worked up in odd and conflicting ways, he couldn’t help but smile as he felt the man beside him shifting to press close and steal some warmth. 

“Good to see that even when you’re supposed to be in a coma, you’re still a needy son of a bitch when we’re in bed,” Dean said with a small smile, pulling his arms around the other man to try and warm him up. 

Even if it was how they’d been sleeping for weeks, it felt different that night, strange, and Dean struggled to realise that he just wasn’t used to having his little spoon be so despondent. Usually Lucifer would bury his cold nose in the warmest part of Dean’s neck while complaining about something unimportant that had happened during the day, lulling them both off to sleep with the sound of his voice. 

Lucifer didn’t offer any commentary though.

He just kept on breathing his slow, soft breaths, his skin cold under Dean’s hands. 

Even if he couldn’t think of a good reason why, it all made Dean feel oddly protective and he pulled himself tighter around the other man than usual.

“Hey, babe,” Dean said slowly, not sure where he was going with the thought, but knowing that one of them needed to say something, because that was part of their evening routine. “Had drinks with you Dad. Really nice scotch. Better than the junk you keep in at home. We should steal a bottle before we leave.” He paused, imagining the man’s irritated reply, and smiled. “You know how you’re still pretty mad about that one time we got caught making out in your dad’s office, and you told me to just try and keep my head down and follow your lead from now on? Yeah. I didn’t do that, and now you and me are dating... it’s not just casual. We got feelings and shit now too. Which is why you shouldn’t leave me unsupervised. Even though you probably already knew that.”

Lucifer didn’t offer even the smallest threat.

“You’ll probably try and kick my ass for all this when you wake up, won’t you?”

The man tucked up against his chest agreed to nothing.

Chuckling awkwardly, Dean pressed a small kiss to his boss’ temple, and winced because Lucifer didn’t complain, or even bat an eye at the unsolicited affection. “Well, at least one of us is gonna sleep well tonight,” he sighed.

For the smallest moment he entertained the idea of planting a real kiss on the sleeping man, but that would be wrong for a couple reasons. Everything that evening was wrong. A feeling that Dean couldn’t seem to shake while he laid there beneath the pile of blankets, sweat starting to bead at the base of his spine, and his oddly weaving conversation with Marlon playing over and over in his mind. 

Gadreel had jokingly referred to it as an ‘interview with Dad’, and Dean had an odd feeling that’s actually what it was. It had been a test of some sort, and there was no good way to tell whether or not he’d passed. 

A small part of Dean was tempted to slip out of bed and go looking for Gadreel’s room. The man seemed to know what was going on, and maybe he would have had the sort of insight that Dean needed―as well as the ability to help out with some more basic needs that Dean still had yet to satisfy.

With Dean’s luck, however, whatever ‘business’ he’d distracted Gadreel from earlier still wasn’t finished and the big man wouldn’t be back any time soon. Dean would only end up walking the cold hallways like the horny, hopeful son of a bitch he was.

Looking for trouble never ended well.

With one last frustrated sigh, Dean buried his face into Lucifer’s sleep messed hair, and did his best to fall asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, for those of you who've read The Boy Who, you're no doubt fully aware of my love for long sprawling chapters where literally nothing important happens besides snuggles. 
> 
> This is one of those chapters. 
> 
> Please enjoy a 20ish page update that I'd put it at 10% plot and 90% two grown men struggling to navigate a bath XD
> 
> I write what I need, and right now I need less struggle and more snuggle <3

Back when Dean was a kid, most of his morning rides had been through the canyon a mile or so down the road from their home and out into the fields. Dusty and warm, big wide open spaces and endless sky. 

With all that as his baseline, he had a few reservations about his ride with Marlon and the ‘kids’. A low blanket of fog made the woods surrounding the property all but vanish in the haze, and the sun was nothing more than a yellow blur through the wispy clouds overhead. 

But―Dean was wearing jeans and a flannel because no cranky blonde had argued otherwise while he was dressing that morning, and comfortable clothes did a lot for Dean’s mood. 

So did hearing Sam laughter as he rode a few yards ahead beside Gabriel. It was a sound that Dean could listen to all day and never tire of. 

“You ride surprisingly well,” Marlon said more like a casual observation than a compliment, adding on with a smile, “for someone who says he’s out of practice.”

Dean glanced sideways at the older man, trying not to look away from the wide dirt trail. It had been a bit surreal to go to the horses that morning to find Stablehand-Marlon cleaning out one of the stalls, with straw, and mud, and who knew what else caked onto his boots and staining the knees of his jeans. Gone was the handsome catalogue Dad from the night before, to be replaced by the warmly smiling, working man that Dean had met on his first trip up to the big house. 

And though that all went a long way at putting aside some of Dean’s casual unease, it was still hard to completely relax. 

Dean offered a grin and a shrug. “It’s all muscle memory, and I know I’m gonna be hurting tomorrow.” 

“A little riding each day for the next few weeks and it will feel like you never took a break.”

“As amazing as that sounds, I don’t think Lu was planning on making this a long visit.”

“Plans change,” Marlon said with a nod, “and seeing as Lucifer would be most upset if any one of us went in to help him while he’s sleeping, it looks like this trip will be quite a bit longer for you boys than you’d planned.”

“Could you fix him?” Dean didn’t mean to sound eager, but it certainly came out that way. 

“You don’t know him as well as you think, if you’re willing to ask me that.” He shook his head, but smiled. “If I do anything to help him heal up faster, then he won’t speak to me for at least a year.” 

“Well, can any of your other kids do that kind of,” Dean made a face and wiggled his fingers in a mysterious manner, “healing… magical stuff?”

Which got a quiet laugh out of Marlon. “There are. But, my son sees himself as fiercely independent. I would say I’m surprised he’s let you stay around for so long, except, clearly he has other plans for you.”

Dean grinned like a hungry animal because that was the appropriate, semi-lewd, response to have.

“After his last significant other, I’ve got to say that you’re quite refreshing.”

Not even thinking before opening his mouth, Dean asked, “Who was he dating before?”

Marlon turned his face away from watching the giggling teens ahead of them as he fixed Dean with a curious little smile. 

“I mean,” Dean chuckled nervously, realising his question probably made him sound at least slightly jealous, “We haven’t really touched on our past relationships yet.”

“I can understand why he’d leave her out. Detective Wolfe was,” Marlon’s smile softened and his gaze went distant, “she’d be a hard act for anyone to follow.”

“Detective… like a police detective?” 

“She certainly was. I’m sure you can imagine the complications that came from having a distinguished member of the NYPD coming to family dinners.”

This was news to Dean. Not only did he and Luci really not go over past relationships, but more importantly, this was not a relationship that had been noted in the files he’d been given on the ‘four’ Williams children. Dean really needed a chance to sit down and talk to one of his higher ups, to fill them in on some giant gaping holes in the FBI’s information. 

He also wondered what had happened to Lucifer’s former lover. 

Something he’d be curious to ask the man about once he finally woke up. Though, if the answer was: ‘ _ she died _ ’ then Lucifer might not be the right person to ask. 

“We’re going down to the beach!” Gabriel called over his shoulder, and not even waiting for a response, he turned his horse off a side path with Sam following close behind. Almost instantly the boys vanished into the fog and ttrees, headed off towards the steady sound of waves. 

“Are we following?” Dean asked, glancing between Marlon and the fork in the trail. 

“I thought we’d go on ahead. Gabriel knows the way back to the house.”

“And you’re ok with them taking off alone with two of your horses?”

“Certainly,” Marlon said so easily, not even batting an eye. “Your brother seems very confident around horses, and Gabriel’s been riding Potato since he could walk. They’ll be fine.”

“The horse’s named Potato?”

“Any of my children who were interested were given a horse of their own, and Gabriel named his Potato.”

Dean grinned, imagining that there could have been worse names for the dusty brown horse that the kid had been riding. 

“So, uh,” Dean nudged his horse with his knees as she started to angle herself down the trail after the kids, gently keeping her on track, “where are we headed to, pops?”

“I thought we could go up to the bluffs. It’s a better view of the sea, and it’s also where your boyfriend built himself a secret hideout when he was a teenager. I thought you might enjoy seeing it.”

Dean was obligated to chuckle and agree, or else run the risk of coming off a shitty boyfriend, and even if he’d never be a halfway decent boyfriend in real life, he still had a certain large lie to keep up. 

They rode for a minute or two in comfortable silence, the movement of the horse beneath Dean comfortable and familiar. He found he was actually starting to enjoy himself, which wasn’t something he’d anticipated.

Needing to make small talk to distract himself from that accidental happy feeling, Dean asked, “How long have you kept horses?”

“Oh, nearly a century now.”

And it wasn’t like Dean wanted to accuse the man of not knowing how long a century was, but Marlon frankly didn’t look over a hundred years old. Though… neither did Benny. 

There were plenty of monsters with unnaturally long lives, and all the man’s answer did was give Dean more questions.

The fog had started to burn off by the time they made it to the bluffs, the trail following along the edge of the sharp drop off, close enough to look over the edge and see the waves crashing against the rocky shore below.

“He came all this way out here for a secret fort?” Dean asked, glancing back over his shoulder and barely able to make out the distant ridges of the big house’s roof between the thick trees. 

“I’m sure he’d have gone further if he could,” was Marlon’s non-answer. They rode along a little further until they came to a jumbled pile of massive bricks laid out in a wide circle beside the cliff’s edge. “Long before our home was built, the only people around for miles were the lighthouse workers. It was one of many along this coast, but it burnt down in the twenties and was left to fall apart.”

That’s what Dean was looking at. Inland Texes had oddly never felt a need to build lighthouses, and so this would be the first one that Dean had ever seen outside of photographs. It really wasn’t much to look at. 

Marlon stopped his horse and gently patted the thing’s neck, smiling as the sharp sea breeze made a mess of his short hair. “My son managed to convince the other kids that the lighthouse was haunted, so whenever he decided that he needed to run away from home, he had the place to himself. He’d bring a tent, and whatever food he could fit in his backpack, and he’d sit out here like a hermit for days, until he’d get hungry enough, or cold enough to come home.”

Dean looked long and hard at the grey stones that still stood tall enough to be just shy of two stories, busted windows and an empty door frame offered a view to the remains of a broken spiral staircase. Every part of it grey, and dismal, and crumbling. It certainly wouldn’t have taken much to convince a kid that the place was haunted. 

“I… can’t imagine him camping,” Dean said finally, shaking his head.

Marlon shook his head too, but he wore a smile. “I can’t imagine him dating someone who owns a flannel shirt, but here we are.” 

Which might have been a jab at Dean’s wardrobe, but he was used to it by now. “Yeah, yeah, Luci complains, but it’s pretty obvious he loves my rugged exterior.”

“I can give you that,” Marlon agreed with a chuckle, “he is obvious.”

Not to Dean he wasn’t, or maybe Dean just didn’t have enough appreciation for Lucifer’s amazing, yet subtle acting skills.

“In this kind of business it can be hard to find someone you can trust, who’s a good fit,” Marlon said slowly as he scratched his horse’s neck, glancing over a shoulder to Dean with a smile, “but one might say that you two just…  _ felon _ love?”

Dean snorted.

“Did you like that?” Marlon looked rather pleased with himself. “My children always act disappointed at my jokes.”

“You’re a dad. The jokes are supposed to be bad.”

“I will take that criticism as a compliment. Thank you.” The old man’s smile was a carbon copy of his son’s. 

It softened something inside of Dean, and he smiled back in spite of himself. 

“Well, now. I know it all doesn’t look like much,” Marlon swung a hand back towards the crumbling remains of the lighthouse, “but in the summer it’s quite beautiful. I thought perhaps you might want to take Lucifer up here one night for some camping beside the sea.”

If Dean and Luci had really been in a proper relationship, then absolutely. This little hideaway from the other man’s childhood could make for a very romantic camping spot, with a sky full of stars and the steady crashing of waves below. 

“Thanks, pops,” Dean gave an appreciative grin. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“ _ Pops _ ,” Marlon repeated, rolling his eyes. “Come along. Do you think you remember your way to the house?”

Fairly confident, Dean nodded.

“Then race me back to the stables.” It wasn’t an offer. Marlon simply turned his horse and took off at a trot that quickly became a gallop once the trail turned away from the bluffs and hooked back into the trees.

Even though he knew he’d be regretting the rough ride sooner rather than later, Dean couldn’t resist taking off down the trail. 

**__________________________**

It was stupid that after all these years, Dean found himself falling back into the role of proud big brother. Playing poker with the kids, Dean was down seventy-five cents, his pile of nickels dwindling. He didn’t mind losing though, not since it was Sam grinning as he raked in the loose change. As long as that floppy haired kid was happy, Dean was happy. 

“Are these good ones?” Gabriel whispered, flashing his cards at the man whose lap he was practically sitting in.

Sam leaned in close, resting his chin on Gabe’s shoulder and rearranging the other kid’s cards.

Dean took a long drink of his room temperature coffee and leaned back against the side of the bed and smiled. They were sitting on the floor of Lucifer’s room, while the blond slumbered on behind Dean, oblivious to the card game taking place. 

“You guys wanna maybe cheat a little less obviously?” Dean asked as he watched Sam and Gabriel trading cards like this was Go Fish. 

“I’m just teaching him how to play,” Sam argued, grinning without an ounce of shame.

Gabriel purred softly, nuzzling into Sam’s side. “And you’re a  _ very _ good teacher.” The two boys were instantly distracted by one another, whispering soft things and cuddling.

Dean had no idea how he was losing to these two idiots. “Come on, guys. Your brother doesn’t sneak into your room while you’re sleeping and feel up his boyfriend, so you don’t get to come in here and make out with yours. Them’s the rules.”

The rule had been a necessity within the first few minutes of letting the teens into the room. They’d insisted that they come keep Dean company, but it was clear that they had a hard time paying attention to anything other than each other. And Dean got that. He’d been a teenage boy too―which was why Dean understood the need to give the kids boundaries. 

Gabriel grumbled and crawled out of Sam’s lap, casting a resentful look at the bed behind Dean. “It’s a dumb rule. He doesn’t even have a boyfriend to sneak into my room and kiss.”

Dean had almost forgotten that his and Lucifer’s little lie didn’t span the whole Williams family. 

But it may as well. 

Lies were so much easier to keep when everyone was on the same page.

“He didn’t tell you?” Dean asked, trying his best to come off slightly offended. “He  _ has _ a boyfriend.”

Gabriel instantly stopped petting on Sam, his eyes going round. “He does not. He’d tell me if he was seeing anyone.”

“Well, it’s not official yet or anything, but me and him, we’re kinda…”

“Kinda what?” Gabriel asked haultingly, oddly oblivious for someone who clearly wasn’t shy about sex.

The springs on the mattress suddenly shifted behind Dean, and a sleep rough voice answered, “Kind of into each other.” 

The heaviness that Dean had been carrying around since the morning before suddenly lifted. “ _ Into each other _ ?” He asked, laughing as he turned around, “I guess that’s one way to say―”

Lucifer’s face was uncomfortably close to Dean’s. 

Close enough to kiss, which was not just a wayward thought on Dean’s part, but a clear observation as the other man pressed their mouths together. The angle was odd with Luci laying on his side and hooking a thumb under Dean’s chin to keep him in place. 

Odd in a nice way.

A distractingly nice way.

For a moment Dean forgot about their brothers and the poker game, and the fact that he and Luci didn’t actually have any kind of anything that resembled a proper relationship. 

Kissing was just really, really nice. 

Dean threaded a hand through Lucifer’s short, sleep mussed hair, managing to deepen their kiss―because even if it was all just for show, it deserved to be a good show. And a good show required at least a little tongue.

But, Lucifer pulled back. 

“No,” he scolded softly. “I’ve got morning breath.”

The man had been dead to the world for almost a solid thirty hours, and his first concern was that he hadn’t brushed his teeth. 

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.

Lucifer dropped his voice to a whisper, one that was clearly meant to be heard by the whole room. “Kick the kids out. I don’t think I can get out of this damn bed without help and I don’t want my brother seeing me like this.”

Who could say no to an offer like that?

With a soft shudder of a sigh, Dean untangled his fingers from Lucifer’s hair and rocked to his knees to loom over their younger brothers. “Alright, get the fuck out, you gremlins. The adults need alone time.”

“Ooooh,” Gabriel cooed, “ _ alone time _ .”

Sam snickered, elbowing his boyfriend. “ _ Adults _ .”

They tossed down their cards, abandoning the game; though Gabriel scooped up all the loose change, including Dean’s winnings, before getting up. 

The littlest Williams paused to smile hopefully at Lucifer. “Hey, if you’re feeling up for it later, you guys maybe wanna come to our room and we can all listen to records or something, and you can tell me why you didn’t tell me about you and your handsome bodyguard getting into each other?”

It was an almost sweet offer, and Lucifer responded appropriately by groaning and rolling onto his back. “Like I wanna hang out with some horny teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Gabriel curled his lower lip into a perfect pout.

“We can have lunch tomorrow,” Lu sighed, giving in almost instantly. 

“You heard the princess,” Dean started pushing the kids towards the door, “out.”

Sam was easy to move, Gabriel not as much. The little guy digging his heels in and looking up with the most serious expression that Dean had ever seen on the kid. 

“Beat it,” Dean insisted, pushing up his sleeves and getting ready to use force if necessary.

But, like all the other Williams boys, it seemed that Gabriel was under the very laughable impression that he was somehow intimidating, and the kid squared his narrow little shoulders and fixed Dean with a challenging glare. “You take good care of him.”

“Of course,” Dean struggled to not laugh.

“You better. I’m serious. Don’t think just because I’m dating your brother, that I won’t kick you ass.”

Dean dipped his head to hide a smile. “Consider me properly warned.”

Giving one sharp and satisfied nod, Gabriel turned on his heels and confidently walked away with Sam in tow. 

Once the door was safely closed, Dean chuckled. “I don’t think he’d even be able to reach my ass unless we got him a chair to stand on first.”

“Ha ha,” Lu said dryly, “you wanna kindly stop working on your standup routine for a second and get back over here?”

It was a very short walk back to the bed, and without even thinking, as soon as he reached the other man’s side, Dean reached out and gently smoothed a hand over Lucifer’s cheek, a touch of rough stubble and surprisingly cold skin.

Lucifer frowned at him, but didn’t pull away.

“How you feeling?” Dean asked, reluctantly taking his hand back.

“How do I look like I’m feeling?”

“You don’t want me to answer that, Luci.”

“Fair,” Lucifer let out a shaking breath that nearly sounded like a laugh, reaching out and taking Dean by the wrist. “I wasn’t joking about not being able to get up on my own.”

It was pitiful enough that, for a moment Dean swallowed down the need to tease the other man, and held out his arms. It wasn’t as simple as just scooping up Lucifer like the princess he was, though. The man was far too independent for that. Instead, he took Dean by the elbows and tried to pull himself up to sitting. 

_ Tried _ . 

Lucifer grunted, flopping onto his back and catching his breath. “Have you ever had the kind of flu where everything hurts, even your hair? And you’re suddenly so weak that even though you want a shower you’re pretty sure you’re not going to be strong enough to turn on the water?”

Dean nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re feeling that bad?”

“No. I was just making small talk,” Lucifer rubbed at one eye with the heel of a hand. “I feel amazing. Can’t you tell?”

“Do you want out of bed, or do you want to just lay there and be a sarcastic son of a bitch? Because I’m honestly good either way.”

Lucifer grunted in place of an answer.

“Or we can just kiss for a while,” Dean teased, trying to gauge just how bad the other man really was, “it’s up to you, boss.”

“Since you’re going around spreading rumors that ...I like you,” Lucifer narrowed his eyes, “it was necessary.”

“Was it though?”

“I don’t know.” He folded his arms above his head, slowly stretching as he looked up at Dean with an incredibly judgmental expression. “Was it necessary to tell my dad that we have  _ feelings _ for each other?”

Dean chuckled uneasily. “So, you heard that?” 

Quiet violence danced in the other man’s eyes. His only answer.

“He asked,” Dean tried to defend himself, still laughing, starting to squirm under the scrutiny. “What was I supposed to tell him?”

With a drawn out sound of disgust, Lucifer pushed himself up, bringing his glare closer to Dean. “How about literally anything other than you and me being in love?”

“Hey now,” Dean relaxed under the absurdity of the accusation, laughing a little harder, “I never used the L-word. Your dad asked me to leave you and come work for him. I had to tell him something, and I panicked.”

“Great,” Lucifer rolled his eyes and held his arms out to Dean, expectantly, as he continued to complain, “I’ve got myself a bodyguard who’s not only good at catching bullets, but also amazing at folding under pressure.”

Dean slipped his arms around Lucifer’s middle, pulling him up off the bed and into a bear hug. Almost every ounce of the other man’s weight was cradled against his chest and over his shoulders as the blond kept his arms hooked tightly around Dean’s neck.

It was as awkward as it was nice.

“I only wanted a little help up,” Lucifer clung to his irritation even though his words no longer matched his tone, “not to be swept off my feet.”

“Sorry. I’ve just got that effect on some people.” Dean laughed, then asked gently, “Can you keep your legs under you?” Not quite trusting the startled whites of the other man’s eyes.

“I need a shower.”

“I’ll take that as a Luci way of saying: ‘ _ No, I’m weak and noodly and will fall if you let go. Dean, please use your big strong arms to carry me to the other room. _ ’ And you know, of course I can’t say no to the princess.”

“If you carry me I’m going to hurt you,” Lucifer warned.

“I’d love to see you try,” Dean hummed in amusement. 

Though it was clear that Lucifer couldn’t possibly stand on his own, Dean still gave the man a bit of his dignity back by shifting their weight around so they could stand side by side with their arms still around each other. 

“You smell like horses,” Lucifer huffed in irritation. 

“Thanks.”

“Leave them alone. Dad gets mad.”

“He invited me to come riding. I’m pretty sure he was expecting me to have to touch the horses.” Dean pushed the bathroom door open with one foot. “Alright you’re, uh, on your own when it comes to the rest.”

Lucifer uncoiled from around Dean’s neck and braced himself against the wall, though clearly not ready to drop the subject. “I told you. I told you that’s how it starts. He offers you what you want most, because the man’s the fucking devil. First it’s drinks, then it’s riding, then it’s the two of you laughing over stupid jokes, and then it turns into ‘he’s not so bad’, and then―”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupted, slightly disturbed at just how accurate the other man’s prediction really was. “Bathroom,” he reminded, trying to distract Lucifer, “didn’t you have something you needed to do?”

The door was closed in Dean’s face. 

Which was fine. 

At first.

But about five minutes later, without a peep from the other room, Dean started to feel antsy. 

“Did you die?” He called through the closed door.

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately, which only made it that much more concerning. 

Finally, there came a halfhearted, “I’m taking a bath.”

“Hey,” Dean tapped on the door. “You can’t soak your leg until it’s healed up a bit more.”

“You’re not my doctor,” Lucifer answered back with his usual levels of defiance. 

“Look, you’re the jackass that cut up his own damn leg. Take a shower or something if you need it―but I’m telling you, you’ll only make the infection worse if you soak it.”

“You are still not my doctor, or anyone’s doctor, so you can bite your own ass,” Lucifer taunted from the other room.

“You stubborn son of a bitch. You’re gonna end up with gangrene or something and I’m just going to laugh at you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Lucifer shot back.

Dean drummed his fingers against the door frame, listening to the silence in the other room, and quickly losing his patience. 

With a sigh, and full knowledge that he would regret his actions sooner rather than later, Dean simply opened the bathroom door and went in, quickly fighting back a grin when he saw Lucifer sitting, fully clothed in the very dry bathtub.

“You… you run into a few problems there, boss?” Dean asked carefully. 

“I’m taking a short break,” Lucifer sleepily lifted his head from the rim of the tub to look at him. 

Dean swallowed a laugh. “I can see that.” He cleared his throat and came closer until his knee hit the edge of the bath. “You really shouldn’t soak your cut up leg of yours, though.”

Lucifer flapped a hand at all the lack of water around him.

“A quick shower,” Dean suggested, nodding to the other corner of the room and the walk in shower.

“Do I look like a man who feels up to standing for a shower?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Even a quick one?”

“You look like someone who needs to get back in bed and sleep for another couple days.”

“I can smell myself,” Lucifer’s counter argument was a simple one. 

“So can I, but you look like shit, man. Maybe let’s put the shower off until tomorrow.”

With narrowed eyes, Lucifer began lightly pawing at the tap. Either challenging Dean, or threatening to turn the water on himself, it didn’t really matter. It was stupid either way.

“Come on then. You’re not taking a bath with all your clothes on.” Dean sagged, giving in and reaching out. “Get your arms up.”

Lucifer’s glare was upgraded to a scowl. “You’re not dragging me back to bed like I’m a little kid.”

“No. I’m not. I’m helping you out of your clothes. So, get those arms up.” Dean had no idea why he couldn’t just leave this man to his own problems. It would certainly be easier. 

But nothing with Lucifer was allowed to be easy.

Dean perched on the rim of the tub and started the very important, and regrettably not sexy, task of undressing the other man. 

The Black Sabbath tee slipped off over Lucifer’s head, his hair messier than ever. He blinked those cold eyes of his and pointedly said, “These aren’t the clothes I was wearing when I fell asleep.” 

“You mean when you collapsed like a sack of potatoes and almost fell down the stairs and broke that pretty face of yours, except I caught you?” Dean asked, dropping the shirt on the floor. “Yeah. We changed you into something more comfortable.”

“I don’t like the word ‘we’,” Lucifer grumbled, but the rest of that thought was lost as he quickly grabbed at Dean’s hands. “What are you doing?”

“Did you want to take a bath in your fancy silky pajama pants?” Dean asked, knowing the obvious answer.

Lu snickered, muttering under his breath, “Did you want to buy me a drink before trying to get into my pants?”

Dean could really go for a drink right then. He twisted his hands in the other man’s grip. “I’m trying to help you here, boss, not seduce you. Give me some credit.”

“I’m not giving you a damn thing.”

“Not even your pants, so you can take that bath you want?”

Lucifer chewed slowly on his lower lip before finally releasing Dean’s wrists and pushing him away. “I can do it myself.”

“Then do it already,” Dean turned away, giving the man some vague sense of privacy. “I’m gettin’ flashbacks to when I used to have to bathe Sammy on Saturday nights. Pretty much had to chase the kid down and turn the hose on him. He’d have gone to church covered in mud if it was up to him.”

“Neither of you struck me as church goers.” 

“It’s a Texas thing. You always have to have twenty crosses on the wall as decoration, and you always make the new neighbors a peach pie…” Dean trailed off as silky pants pooled on the floor beside his feet, shortly followed by boxers. He hesitated to either turn around and helping, or leave the room―not at all sure what was the right move. For all he knew, if he gave the other man some space, then Lucifer would end up drowning himself in the tub. 

Staying felt risky for very different reasons.

“Turn the water on for me,” Lucifer demanded, one of his hands pushing at the small of Dean’s back, “as hot as it will go. This damn house is always freezing.”

“I think that’s just you,” Dean fiddled with the taps, watching the water quickly rising up to cover Lucifer’s long toes. “You were always cold at your own place too, except for when you were using me at night like a space heater.”

“It’s the only reason I keep you around,” Lucifer said with a soft laugh. 

It made Dean imagine that the other man was smiling, one of those barest curves to the corners of his mouth while his eyes would dance with amusement. 

“Now,” the blond behind Dean continued, “hurry up and get out of those clothes.”

A bark of a laugh escaped Dean and he looked back over his shoulder, his insides in knots. 

Lucifer was sitting with his long legs drawn to his chest, his arms folded around his knees as the puddle of steaming water continued to slowly rise. He looked ridiculous, and clearly had no room at all to sound so confident or demanding. “Don’t think that just because I feel like death, that I’m going to let you go around stinking like farm animals. You’re filthy, and thanks to all your enthusiastic rumors, people are going to think I’m in love with a slob who stomps around the house with mud on his boots.”

“I changed my shoes when we were done riding,” Dean started to say in his own defence, looking down at himself to see that, well, yeah, maybe he had some dirt on his jeans and some horsehair pretty much everywhere. But it wasn’t  _ that _ bad. “Sure though. I’ll go ahead and get a shower when you’re all finished in here.”

“No. Because when I’m finished here you’re going to help me back to bed, then you’re staying and keeping me warm.”

“I’m not hopping in the tub with you, you weird son of a bitch.” Dean struggled to get his thoughts in order despite the odd desire he had to giggle. “I’ll help you back to bed, and I’ll be your big spoon, but  _ this _ … this is outside the job description.”

“It’s a bath,” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’ve sent you to get clean plenty of times. You know I can’t deal with you being dirty.”

“Adults don’t bathe together, Luci.”

“Actually they do, but I don’t have the energy to give you a lecture on world cultures.” He rested his chin on his knees, starting to look far more exhausted than anything else. “Just get in the damn tub so we can both get clean.”

Two grown ass, naked men, who find each other physically attractive, sharing a bath. What could possibly go wrong?

Seeing as Lucifer looked like he legitimately felt like hell, Dean realised that his own natural horn-dog nature might not be a problem for once. 

He took off his clothes while the tub filled, dumping his flannel and undershirt into the pile with Lucifer’s pajamas. Dean paused when he got to his belt and he risked a sideways glance at the tub. 

The other man’s eyes had drifted closed as he huddled against the running water for warmth, a peaceful smile on his pallid face. 

Shaking his head, Dean left all his clothes on the floor and stepped into the far end of the overly large tub, hissing as the scalding water touched his more sensitive parts. 

“Already feeling like a boiled lobster here,” Dean chuckled, trying to figure out where his legs were supposed to go-- probably anywhere other than around Lucifer’s hips would be acceptable. “Also, as a guy who, at the age of eight knew I was bi, even if I didn’t know the word for it yet, I gotta’ say that this is the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”

Lucifer scoffed, but didn’t look back at Dean. 

“And this is including that one time I was the third guy in a threesome.”

“It’s just a  _ bath _ ,” Lucifer said simply. “Not everything is about sex.”

“See, that’s the thing I don’t think you’re getting,” Dean tried to explain, pulling a washcloth over from the neat little stack of clean towels and such beside the tub. He soaked the rag and smoothed it from one side of Lucifer's shoulders to the other, getting some of that hot water in places that looked very cold. “Sex is about sex. But this is all domestic and shit. We’re like an old married couple.”

“I really hate having to listen to you talk sometimes. Do you know that?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, “why else would I keep talking?” He dipped the washcloth again,before wringing out a tiny flood of hot water over the other man’s shoulders. “You’re adorable when you get angry. Like a little puppy.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, man, you started it with the puppy stuff.”

“If the water gets high enough I think I can drown him,” Lucifer whispered thoughtfully to himself.

“Good luck with that one, seeing as you can’t even stand on your own.” Dean found some soap and began actually washing the sharp edges of Lucifer’s shoulder blades. It was the same way that Dean had done things when Sam had been a baby, lots of gentle scrubbing in little circles, accompanied by soft humming. 

“Alright, the singing might be a bit too extra,” Lucifer said as Dean nudged his arms up to get at his sides and underarms. 

“Sorry. Habit… a left over habit I guess. I haven't washed anyone since Sammy was five or six.”

“You don’t need to pick it back up now.”

“You want me to stop?” Dean lifted the rag up off the other man’s ribs, teasing in his tone because he’d noticed the way that Lucifer had leaned into each and every touch. 

“I want you to not make this any weirder than it needs to be.”

“Alright,” Dean shrugged, re-soaping the washcloth and tossing it over Lu’s shoulder. “Wash yourself then, you weak and noodly coma patient.”

“Noodly isn’t a word,” Lucifer complained in a rather spiteful way, before settling in and washing his face and chest. He stopped, only half way done, to peek over his shoulder at Dean. “I was serious about you stinking like horses. Stop sitting back there admiring my ass, and get clean.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, because half dead, noddly coma patients are a total turn on for me.” He got one foot on Lucifer’s back and gave him the gentlest of kicks. 

“Stop it with the  _ noodly _ or I swear to god I’ll drown you.”

Grinning, and giving himself one point for getting under Luci’s skin, Dean soaped up a washcloth of his own and started to scrub off the horse scent as best as he could.

He wasn’t given a chance to fully finish his methodical head to toe scrub though, before the water sloshed dangerously up to the edge of the tub, and Lucifer pushed himself backwards and into the space between Dean’s knees.

In a confused panic, Dean braced his hands flat against Lucifer’s shoulders and demanded, “W-whoa, hey, what are we doing, Luci?”

“I’m getting comfortable,” he drawled, relaxing back against Dean’s chest and laying the wet washcloth over his face, muffling his words, “I plan to enjoy soaking in this lovely hot water.”

“Really?” Dean’s voice was uncomfortably tight. “ _ Really _ ? We’re doing this? You wanna make things this awkward for us both?”

Lucifer stretched out as much as the tub would allow for someone with legs like his, resting his arms along the edges of the bath, his head falling back on Dean’s shoulder. “This is also your punishment for telling everyone you could that we’ve got  _ feelings _ . Shut up and stop squirming around so I can enjoy this.”

“This is the actual worst thing ever.”

"Shut up, Dean."

“You shut up.”

One of Lucifer’s hands came up to lightly bat at the side of Dean’s face. “Stop making it weird and let me sleep.”

Sleeping in a full tub was an objectively terrible plan. 

But Dean was there to keep Lucifer from drowning himself like the idiot he was.

Suffering as stoically as he could, Dean hooked an arm around the other man’s chest and let his head fall back, eyes closed tightly while he did his best to pretend that it all wasn’t so incredibly comfortable.

“This aint in the job description, though,” he finally grumbled, “let me tell you.”

Lucifer humed a soft non-answer.

Dean tightened his arm, briefly imagining strangling the other man, before relaxing and pointing out, “God, you’re the fucking worst. You know that?”

Lucifer’s hand came back up, and fumbling, he pressed one waterlogged finger over Dean’s lips as he made a soft shushing sound. 

It was hard to fight against such a strong argument, and Dean didn't try. Instead he pressed a kiss to Lucifer’s hand and pulled the man’s arm down to rest against the edge of the tub where it belonged. 

Begrudgingly, Dean could admit that it wasn’t awful, and after not too long he found himself wondering how he could possibly swing a second bath in their future. Once he got over the whole ‘naked bodies pressed together’ part of things, the hot water and the solid weight of Lucifer against him was amazing.

Dean felt guilty for enjoying it as much as he did; for relaxing and nearly falling asleep where he lay. 

Thankfully, it didn’t last too long, and soon Lucifer was sitting up and whining. “Why does it have to get cold so fast?”

“Because we’re in a big, drafty old house?” Dean offered, sleepily opening his eyes and wishing he didn’t have to.

Lucifer ignored the explanation in favor of continuing to be a whiny man-child. “It’s going to be even colder back in the room. You couldn’t put me in a room with a fireplace?”

“Didn’t know that was an option.” Dean let his arms fall away from the other man’s shoulders. “They told me this was your old bedroom.”

“It is, and it’s as cold as I remember it.” Lucifer let out a long breath, pushing his hands through his mostly dry hair. “What are the chances I can talk you into carrying me to bed?”

“Not good, since you were yelling at me recently for trying to carry you in here.”

“I’m a complicated man.”

“You’re something alright,” Dean laughed softly. He pushed himself up straighter, trying to figure out the best way to get out from under his lap full of Lucifer without making it eight kinds of awkward for them both. “I found a couple fireplaces earlier today when the kids took me on a little tour. There might have been a couple good looking couches… you think you’d be any more comfortable curled up in one of those rooms?”

“That’s an oddly thoughtful and sweet offer.” Lucifer half turned. “Are you feeling ok?”

“I’m just looking for a way to keep you from whining about the cold until we can get back home.”

Lucifer made a face and looked away, pulling the stopper on the tub. The water around them started to move. “Just stay in bed with me,” he offered quietly, “I’ll be plenty warm.”

“You know, as tempting as it is to go full hibernation mode? I’m gonna have to pass.”

“What about your job?” Lucifer looked back again, turning far enough that his knees hit the side of the tub. “You’re supposed to stay with me.”

“I’m doing the best I can, but if you ask me to stay stuck in that little bedroom of yours until you’re feeling a hundred percent, I’m gonna be climbing the walls before the end of tomorrow.” Dean eased, thinking it was clearly in his own best interest to not mention that he’d already agreed to go riding again with Marlon again the next morning. “Besides, you’re safe here. I’ll get you a couple extra blankets and you’ll be fine.”

“And just how many blankets do you think I need to replace you exactly?” Lucifer asked, his eyebrows hiking up curiously. 

Dean guessed two. 

But Dean had clearly underestimated the other man’s stubbornness, because no amount of blankets seemed to satisfy, and Dean had no other option to shut the man up other than crawling into bed with him. 

It was midafternoon, not exactly time to turn in, unless you were a man recovering from a mild magical coma, because Lucifer tucked himself up under Dean and almost instantly fell asleep. 

Which meant that apparently Dean had officially been demoted from bodyguard all the way down to being bedding. It wasn’t a bad job.

Dean didn’t even realise that he’d fallen asleep too, until the blankets over him were being slowly drawn back. Confused as to where he was and what was going on, his eyelids fluttered, and Dean caught a blurry glimpse of someone standing over him in the dark. In one fluid motion he pulled his gun from under his pillow and leveled it at the stranger’s stomach. 

Slowly, his vision cleared, and Dean recognised the widened eyes looking down at him.

“Hey,” chuckling softly, Dean lowered the gun, “knock next time, man. I could have killed you.”

Gadreel let out a slow breath, dropping the edge of the blanket.

“You coming to check on your brother?” Dean smiled and ran his hands through his hair. “He’s…” Dean shifted, motioning to the lump of a man hugging his side like a barnacle clinging to the side of a ship, “sleeping again, but he was up and arguing and complaining like his old self for about an hour today.”

Gadreel frowned, looking down at the two men in bed for a long beat before saying, “I didn’t know you two were…”

Dean glanced down at himself, remembering that he was still very naked. It explained the other man’s confusion. With a whole lot of fake confidence, he offered up, “That the two of us are… dating?”

After a stunned moment as the whites of Gadreel’s eyes suddenly became very visible, he repeated in disbelief, “ _ Dating _ ?”

Dean shrugged, not a real fan of the word either. “Lovers doesn’t sound much better, does it?”

The sound that Gadreel made could have passed for a laugh, but it didn’t seem to match with his quiet and collected nature. The big man stood there, shaking his head, that stunned expression slowly melting to one of clear anger as all humor left.

Even though Dean didn’t fully understand, he had a sudden feeling that he needed to be concerned once more of what Lucifer was going to do to him when he woke. 

“You hypocrite,” Gadreel hissed suddenly. 

Dean shifted uneasily, pulling the blanket back up over Lucifer as he realised who exactly the insult was aimed at.

It was odd to see the little shared ticks and twitches that the members of the Williams family shared, as the big man showed his anger the same way as Lucifer, grinding his jaw and crossing and uncrossing his arms before finally raising his voice.

“He spends years lecturing the rest of us on how sleeping with anyone who works for the family is somewhere between blackmail and forced prostitution―and then he turns around and starts screwing the help.”

The harsh words skimmed over the surface of Dean’s mind, taking their time to properly sink in.

No wonder Lucifer was irritated by Dean’s little rumors. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean sat up, scrambling to come to Lucifer's defense. “I sort of instigated the whole thing. Took an awful lot of convincing on my part.”

Gadreel wasn't buying it. “Lucifer doesn’t let people talk him into anything. Not business deals, not favors, and not into bed.”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugged, turning on his most charming smile, “maybe taking a bullet for him won a couple extra points in my favor? The human heart is a complicated thing.”

“Heart?” Gadreel scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m sure if he had one of those, then someone like you would be able to steal it.”

“You _f_ _ lirt _ ,” Dean grinned, teasing to lighten up the tension. 

Gadreel was a solemn sort of man though, and maybe wasn’t used to teasing, because he certainly didn’t look won over. He merely shook his head, casting an incredibly resentful look at the slumbering lump beside Dean, before excusing himself from the room. 

Dean let out a long breath, easing himself back into the pillows. It wasn’t that easy to relax however, and he lay there with a tightness in his chest and an itch between his shoulders. Feelings that he could only put up with for so long before he had to extract himself from the bed and go lock the door that led out to the hall.

The itch remained. Dean was certain that he’d locked the door earlier. He always locked the door. It was a compulsion. 

Not able to help himself, he unlocked, then re-locked the door just to be certain. 

Then he took the high backed chair from beside the window and propped it up under the door knob.

Not that that would stop anyone particularly determined from coming in to check on Lucifer, but it would slow them down and give Dean a chance to wake up before another member of the man’s family had a chance to sneak in and loom over them. 

Satisfied, Dean returned to the bed, smiling as the bump beneath the blankets wormed up against him. He couldn’t stop himself from tucking Lucifer more tightly against his chest, resting his chin on the man’s head, letting the messy blond hair tickle his nose. 

It all felt… good.

Surprisingly good. 

Comfortable, and safe, and so god damn domestic that for a few moments it didn’t even raise an alarm inside of Dean’s mind. 

But it did catch up with him eventually, and his eyes flew open. 

This wasn’t what he was here for. 

This was just a small distraction. Feeling like tose were a god damned liability.

“Well… shit,” Dean told the ceiling, an uneasy laugh bubbling in his chest. 

A pale face emerged from the cocoon of warmth, blinking slowly at Dean. “Did you say something?”

“Nah,” he lied through his teeth, chuckling softly.

Lucifer mumbled nonsense, putting his head back down with a  _ thump _ on Dean’s chest. 

“Your brother came by,” Dean said after a moment, waiting to see if there was any response, and after a disinterested grunt for the man half asleep on his chest, he continued, “he wanted to check on you.”

Another sleepy sound in place of an answer.

Dean found himself lifting a hand to stroke the other man’s hair and had to stop himself. “You’re heavy.”

“I try so hard,” Lucifer shifted sluggish, moving to lay more on top of Dean, “I’m thinking the heaviest thoughts.”

“Wow, thanks, buddy. Really appreciate the extra effort.”

“Anything for you, sugar pants,” Lucifer slurred the words together sleepily and it left Dean chuckling a little too hard. “That was the name we picked… right?”

“The nickname wasn’t really put to a vote, but sure,  _ we _ picked it.”

Lucifer chuckled his way through a yawn, nuzzling his face into Dean’s ribs and drifting back to sleep. 

Dean was in trouble. 

He  _ knew _ in his gut that he was in trouble for feeling the way he did, but right in that moment, with his arms comfortably holding Lucifer close and safe, it was hard to imagine that this was really a bad thing. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came to a standstill for a couple weeks, while I went full hibernation mode over here. I'd wanted to get it all wrapped up and give y'all a happy, cute, chapter for the holiday weekend, but that clearly wasn't going to happen with this little raincloud in my head.   
> So... my solution is to split the chapter up into two, so you can still have something cute and happy to read, just in case that's something that you need <3
> 
> I do ask though, if you've got any cute fic recommendations to share, or distracting movie, or entertaining youtube channels... share them with your friendly internet ham overhere?

The kids were doing a lot less eating and a lot more people watching, because apparently Lucifer pretending not to be angry with Dean was far more interesting than their lunches getting cold on the table. 

It had been like this all morning, ever since Dean tried to crawl back in bed without waking Lu, convinced that he’d managed to wash off any sign that he’d been out with the horses since dawn. 

Casually as he could, Dean reached out to lay his hand over his ‘boyfriend’s’ only to have Lucifer very suddenly feel a need to top off his already mostly full glass, keeping his hands oh so busy and impossible to hold.

Dean knew he should stop trying, but it was hard to resist, because as obviously furious as Lucifer was, the man apparently was still determined to uphold their lie of a relationship while they were under observation.

And to Dean, this was hilarious.

“How long were you planning to keep this a secret from me?” Gabriel demanded.

“Forever,” Lucifer said with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve got an image to keep.”

Gabe made an ‘oooh’ sound like he suddenly understood. “Because the world will end if anyone realises that you’re not actually a lonely, mean, jerk face who no one will ever love?” 

Dean choked on his grin, clearing his throat and looking away.

“I can’t have people thinking I’m going all soft and lovey dovey,” Lucifer agreed with a tight smile, all while kicking Dean under the table, probably as punishment for the poorly hidden laughter. “It’s a liability, kiddo. You’ll understand better when you’re older.”

“Fuck you with that ‘ _ you’ll understand when you’re older’ _ bologna,” Gabriel laughed, elbowing Sam, “Why do adults always say stuff like that?”

Sam pushed his hair behind his ears so he could fix the ‘adults’ with a very judgy look. “Why do they think that just because they’re a couple years older than us that they can talk to us like we’re kids?”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, doing an amazing Michael impersonation. “Because you two gremlins  _ are _ still kids, who clearly don’t get that sometimes a little discretion is a good thing, and not everyone needs to go around pawing their significant other constantly like they’re trying to mark their territory.”

“He’s such a tight ass,” Gabriel whispered out of the corner of his mouth, continuing to nudge his boyfriend, “I bet it takes at least an hour, and like two whole bottles of lube for your brother to get in there.”

Sam and Dean made equally awful sounds of strangled laughter.

Dean was also kicked a second time, only much harder. He’d have bruises by that night, but it was worth it. 

“I’ve found a way to cut the prep time down to like twenty minutes,” Dean said with a shark’s grin, dipping his voice low like he was telling the boys across the table secrets, “it involves giving him a couple glasses of wine, real long massage, and telling him how much I like his tie.”

“Should I be taking notes?” Gabriel leaned in, grinning right back. “I mean, just in case I ever find myself with an equally tight nut that I’ve just got to crack?”

“Buddy… come on. You’re  _ obviously _ a bottom, and you’re not about to go bronco riding anytime soon,” Dean laughed, “so, you just keep on doing you. It seems to be working well so far.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gabriel beamed back at him, a happy flush to his cheeks as he leaned his body into Sam’s. “But, just future FYI, we like to be called power-bottoms.”

Dean had no idea if he was being teased or not. Either way, he had to laugh and tip his head towards Lucifer, asking, “That makes two of you. So now I’m going to just assume that you come from a whole family of… power-bottoms, and I kinda’ like it.”

Lucifer’s hand slipped up Dean’s leg beneath the table. From the kid’s point of view it probably looked flirty and inappropriate. To Dean however, it was downright painful as the other man’s fingers dug into his thigh like claws. “How about one hundred percent less sex talk with my underaged brother?”

“I’m eighteen in two weeks,” Gabriel said with as much offence as possible.

“Fantastic. Then in two weeks you two pervs can compare notes,” Lucifer didn’t take his hand from Dean’s leg, digging in deep bruises, “but for now, can we just eat lunch?”

**___________________________**

“So, on average, how long do you hold a grudge?” Dean asked, padding down the long hall after Lucifer. 

“Depends,” the other man answerd, not looking back. 

They were going on their third night at the house, at the tail end of Lucifer’s first whole day fully awake, and other than the brief house tour that Dean had gotten from Gadreel while helping drag Lucifer’s unconscious body off to bed two days ago, there hadn’t actually been much chance to go wandering. Not that he was wandering at present. 

What he was doing was chasing after Lucifer, up and down far too many halls for them to properly have a destination in mind. 

“Well, Say you’re pissed at me for going riding this morning,” Dean suggested almost innocently, “what’s the sentence on this? We talking a couple weeks with maybe time off for good behaviour―or am I looking at multiple life sentences here?”

“You think you’re so god damned charming,” Lucifer finally glanced back, “don’t you?”

“I know I am,” Dean grinned, “problem is, all this charm isn’t worth shit since it’s never really worked on you,” which was a lie, because Dean could see the way that Lucifer’s scowl softened on the edges. “So, what’s the verdict, boss? How long am I in the dog house for this one?”

“Seeing as you’re wearing those ratty jeans of yours again, knowing I’m already mad at you? I’d say a pretty damn long time.”

“It was these or the pants I wore while riding, and―”

“And you were trying to hide that little fact from me, by sneaking into bed, freshly showered and dressed.”

“Was I supposed to get back in bed naked?” Dean cocked his head, trying not to grin as he saw a very telling flush darkening the other man’s cheeks. “Because if that’s what you want, you can just say so.”

Lucifer turned on his heels, explaining as he went, “I was cold yesterday and didn’t want to lay around waiting while you got dressed is all. That’s it.”

The night before it had been a perfectly valid excuse. 

But twenty-four hours later it was making Lucifer blush like a teenager, so Dean wasn’t really ready to let it go just yet. 

“Alright, boss,” Dean followed after the other man, on their seemingly endless wanderings, “but don’t hesitate the next time you’re real cold at night. You just let me know and these clothes can come right off for you and we can have some of that life saving, skin to skin, contact to keep you sleeping comfortably.”

Lucifer said nothing to that, his stride growing a little longer even though he didn’t stand a chance at outrunning Dean. 

They ended up in a room that Dean hadn’t seen before, which wasn’t at all surprising since those words could have easily described the majority of the house. The place had the same casual-chic, pinkies up, feeling as the room that Dean had had drinks with Marlon in two nights before, with the notable exception that this new room had a pool table, dart board, and a fully stocked wet bar.

Lucifer rounded the big table, dragging his fingers along the polished wood edge. “Do you play pool?”

“Not for years,” Dean answered, already liking where this was going.

“Do you still remember how?”

“I’d be a bit rusty, but if you’re asking me to play, then the answer’s yes.”

“I  _ wasn’t  _ asking you to play,” Lucifer arched an eyebrow before starting to retrieve the pool balls from the side pocket nearest him. “I’m telling you to make me a drink, and then go pull out a pair of sticks for us.”

Dean cleared his throat to mask his laugh at the other man calling them ‘sticks’, but went and did as he was told. “What are you in the mood for?” He asked, pulling out two glasses. 

“Something strong,” came the answer. “I don’t like being sober in this house if I don’t have to.”

Dean wasn’t a bartender, and more than that, he wasn’t the sort of guy to order exciting mixed drinks, so he had no idea what he was doing, but decided to play it safe. He poured them both a very small shot of whiskey and set them out on the edge of the bar before grabbing down two cues from the rack against the wall. 

He made it back to the table in time to see Lucifer tossing back one shot after another, hissing through his teeth, and then holding a hand out for his ‘stick’.

“Ok, but one of those was mine,” Dean smiled, leaning one hip against the table.

“How sad for you,” Lucifer drawled, clearly teasing back, even though that irritable tightness hadn’t yet left the corners of his mouth. 

So, Dean was still in trouble.

That was ok. He was used to it by now. 

Even though it went against his inherent competitive nature, Dean willingly threw the first game, letting Lucifer win, because the man looked like he needed it.

That little sacrifice on Dean’s part had an unexpected result, however.

As he was racking up the balls for a second round, Lucifer announced, “If I win this one those pants of yours go.”

“We’re playing strip pool?” Dean laughed, as amused by the idea as he was concerned. 

“No,” Lucifer said almost too quickly. “You and your one track mind. No. If I win then I get to toss those god awful torn up jeans you're wearing into the garbage when we get back to the apartment.”

“And if I win?” Dean asked slowly, refilling their shot glasses for not the first time since they’d started playing―which might have been the reason for his much improved mood.

“You won’t.”

“Rude.”

“Fine. If you win then  _ you _ can throw those jeans in the garbage.”

“Ha ha,” Dean dragged the words out before handing over one of the shot glasses to the other man, watching as it was swallowed down faster than it had been poured. “How’s about if I win then I don’t have to wear a tie for a week?”

“We’re not changing the dress code over a stupid pool game,” Lucifer laughed at the idea. “How about if you win you can be the little spoon tonight?”

Dean had absolutely no idea that the position was supposed to be so coveted. He fought to keep a straight face as he answered, “Don’t bet anything you’re not willing to lose, Luci.”

The man ran his hands through his hair, clasping his hands behind his neck and looking at Dean almost too long before saying, “You know what? It’s only fair. If you win you can have whatever you want. But that’s a real big  _ if _ .”

“You saying that if you could have anything at all, anything in the whole world that’s in my power to give you, you just want to trash these jeans?”

“I hate them so much,” Lucifer confessed. “No one wants to see your pale ass knees.”

“ _ My _ knees?” Dean snickered, lening down over the pool table and lining up his first shot. “You’re one to talk. With as white as your legs are? I’m surprised I was able to sleep at all last night, your damn legs practically glow in the dark.”

“Excuse me if I’ve been too busy with not getting myself killed to keep up on my nude sunbathing.” 

“That’s… that’s a mental image I’m gonna have a hard time shaking,” Dean took the shot, watching the colored balls scatter over the table top, one sinking into a corner pocket. He straightened up, walking slowly around the table to line up a second shot. “That level of whiteness? You’d throw off bird migration patterns.”

“Really?” Lucifer sighed.

“I mean, if I ever went cave diving, I could use those skinny white legs of yours like glow sticks to light my way.” Dean kept his eyes fixed on the table, watching another two balls roll into their new home. 

“Are you done yet?”

“Not yet.” Dean grinned at the table, only half focused on the game as he tried to pick out his next shot. “I suddenly realised why you have no lights in your place. It’s not because you keep busting the bulbs with loose magic, you don’t need ‘em because your damn legs glow in the dark.”

“Ah, you’ve already used ‘glow in the dark tonight,” Lucifer walked around Dean, going to the bar and pouring two more shots, “which means you’ve run out of insults, which means I win.”

“Yeah well, you and your milky thighs can win all the insults you want. We didn’t place bets on the insults,” Dean took yet another shot, still having not missed a single one, and so not having to let the other man even have a chance to play.

In less than a minute he cleared the table, every one of the striped balls, followed by the eight ball, into their pockets. 

Dean finally looked up, grinning furiously.

And to his surprise, Lucifer was grinning back. 

“You hustled me,” the blond accused with a happy laugh.

“Hustle? What hustle?” Dean asked innocently, taking his drink from Lucifer’s hand. 

“Best two out of three?”

“You just don’t want to give up on getting me out of these pants. I won fair and square, sir.” Dean drained his glass and handed it back. “Pay up.”

“Pay what? You never decided what you wanted.”

Dean thought slowly, mulling it over, purposefully chewing on his lip the same way that Lucifer always did. Finally saying, “Get me another drink, and play me another game. We’ll go double or nothing.”

“Double?” Lucifer laughed. “What does that even mean here? I get to kill two pairs of your jeans?” 

“Or I get two of whatever I want,” Dean countered.

“I’m not agreeing unless you tell me what it is you want.”

“You’re rich. Anything I want, you can get me.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, and poured Dean another drink, handing it over and pointedly saying, “You’re not getting out of wearing a tie.”

He’d been hoping to swing two week without a tie, but apparently that was off the table. “I’ve got something else in mind,” Dean lied, doing his best to keep up that cocky confidence he had going. 

“What?” Lucifer asked, still holding Dean’s empty glass, watching him curiously.

“I’ll tell you when I win.” Dean figured that bought him enough time to come up with something fittingly stupid to stand up to Lucifer’s desire to destroy Dean’s favorite pair of jeans.

Lucifer racked up the balls once more, then leaned far over the table, gauging his first shot. It gave Dean a nice view of the man’s backside.

The day before, the man had been unconscious, cold and drawn, and nearly helpless. Apparently whatever magic-exhaustion had suddenly hit him two days ago, faded as quickly as it came on. Lucifer was as rosy cheeked and sarcastic as ever. And, just like always, he looked really nice from the back.

Dean had lost track of how many shots of whiskey he’d had, so he’d also lost track of his thoughts and managed to forget why it was that checking out his boss's ass was such a bad thing. It wasn’t until Lucifer turned around and gave Dean a very odd look, did Dean manage to snap out of it.

“It’s your turn,” Lu said slowly, watching him with a crooked smile.

Dean shook himself and found where he’d left his pool cue. “Aw, you didn’t clean the table for me,” he teased, slowly circling the large, heavy piece of furniture. “You… you didn’t even sink one, did you? You going easy on me?”

“No. I’m just better at pool when I’m sober, like any respectable person.”

“You sayin’ I’m not  _ respec-tickle-able,” _ Dean asked, stumbling over the word, laughing with the effort of it.

“I’m sayin’ it’s hard to hit the ball when you keep seeing two of them.” Lucifer chuckled, swinginging his cue gently to tap Dean’s knees; first the right one, then the left, very threateningly. “I am trying though. Don’t you underestimate how much I hate those jeans.” 

Dean used his own cue to bat Lucifer’s weapon of choice away. “You can’t scare me with that gangster bullshit, baby. I’m―”

“ _ Baby _ ?” Lucifer didn’t give Dean and chance to finish his taunt. “I can put up with a lot of things. But there is no way in hell you’re calling me baby.”

“It’s the same as callin’ you babe.”

“No, no. You’re the one who looks like an idiot when you call me babe. I’m the one who looks like a complete jackass with awful taste in men if I let you call me…  _ baby _ .” He swung his cue at Dean’s, knocking them together sharply. “Take your fuckin’ shot, sugar pants.”

Dean stepped into the other man’s space, using a hip to push him away from the table. “Pour me another shot, while I take my shot,” he grinned at the accidental joke, or at least he thought it was a joke. His brain was swimming and his grin felt loose and sloppy as Lucifer bounced right back into Dean’s personal space. 

“You’ve had,” Lucifer brought his mouth close to Dean’s, sniffing lightly, “maybe a bit too much to drink already.”

“You can smell my blood alcohol levels?”

“Nah, but I can smell your breath,” Lucifer laughed. He’d been laughing a lot since they’d started playing pool. “And I’ve been pouring your shots for the last twenty minutes, so I know how much you’ve had.” He reached up to lightly pat one of Dean’s cheeks in a way that uncomfortably straddled the line between affectionate and condescending.

“I can’t feel my teeth anymore,” Dean confessed, chuckling somewhere down low in his chest. He leaned into Lucifer’s hand, biting his own lip in a way he hoped was teasing and one step too far, enough to scare the other man off.

It didn’t work.

Lucifer, hand still on Dean’s cheek, and clearly as drunk as Dean, kissed him lightly. Barely enough pressure between them to feel the press of teeth behind their lips.

“Still there,” Lucifer confirmed in a rough whisper.

Dean felt oddly breathless and didn’t know why. He found himself leaning in, chasing after the other man’s mouth and asking, “You don’ wanna’ double check?”

Lucifer laughed again, awkward and happy, and with an unexpected snort at the end. 

It killed Dean, shutting down the part of his brain that had needed a second kiss, and reducing him to a fit of giggling. He ended up hunched over, clinging to the other man as they both laughed too hard to speak. 

Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, Lucifer managed to extract himself. “I’m getting us both a fat glass of water,” he promised.

Water didn’t taste as nice as more whiskey would have, but it was probably a good idea.

A very good idea , Dean thought as his eyes followed the other man across the room.

Focus. 

He needed to focus… on something other than how cute Lucifer looked while he struggled to carefully fill two glasses of water for them. 

“It’s good to see you back to normal, man,” Dean announced out loud, trying to remind his soggy brain of what type of relationship they actually had. “You had me worried for a bit.”

“It’s your job to worry.”

“Maybe, but also warn me next time before you go full comatose.”

“Doesn’t usually come with a warning,” Lucifer brought over their waters. “Just assume any time I finish up my work that I’m going to need to sleep a bit. You gonna take your turn or not?”

“You that eager to lose?” Dean laughed. He wouldn’t argue, leaning down over the table and looking for a good place to start in the mess that Lucifer had left him with. Dean thought he could bounce the cue ball off the far side of the table and maybe knock a few other balls into a better position for his next turn. 

This would be a longer game than the last two.

An exceptionally longer game seeing as apparently Lucifer had decided to cheat. 

As Dean took the shot which would have been bad even if he was sober, he felt a slow, steady hand slide over the curve of his ass. 

Laughing nervously, Dean turned from the table, not even waiting to watch and see how badly he’d fucked up the shot. 

“Sorry,” Lucifer said with no apology to be found behind his malicious smile, “there was a loose thread.”

“You wanna play dirty pool, then I’ll play you some of the dirtyest pool,” Dean smiled sweetly, gripping his pool cue in both hands as he swayed gently side to side, “but you asked for it.”

“Only thing I asked for is that ratty, poor excuse for jeans to be destroyed.” He rounded the table, moving away from Dean to what he probably viewed as a safer place. “And when I win they will be nothing more than a horrible memory.”

“Buddy, the cue ball’s over here, and you’re about to hit a yellow ball at nothing. You’re drunk as fuck and I’m not exactly shakin’ in my boots.”

Lucifer squinted at the table and frowned. “I was just testing if you were paying attention,” he mumbled and came back around to a place where he actually stood a chance at making a halfway decent shot.

“When I woke up today I had no idea I’d get a chance to kick your ass at pool twice in a row,” Dean purred, watching the other man struggle to line things up. “You need some help there?”

“Shuddup,” Lucifer half sang, clearly trying to focus. 

Dean took that opportunity to slink around behind the other man and slowly slip his hands down Lucifer’s shoulders all the way to the wrist, leaning down over him until their bodies were flush.

“Can I help you with something?” Lucifer asked unevenly, chuckling as he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Can I help  _ you _ ? You really look like you need it.”

“My love, I’ve been playing pool since before you were born,” Lucifer turned back to the table, smiling as he resumed his poor attempt at a passable shot, “there’s nothing you can teach me I don’t already know.”

Drunk or sober, no one in Dean’s life had ever called him ‘my love’, and it brought him instantly back to the point of giggling. He pressed his face between the other man’s shoulders and laughed happily until he was elbowed repeatedly to get off.

“It’s your turn, you grabby bastard.” Lucifer kept shoving, practically chasing Dean away.

And that’s how their game went, a little laughter, and a lot of poor shots and poorer insults.

Somehow Dean still managed to win. Which, naturally he took very graciously, crowing happily as he made a victory lap around the table.

Lucifer waited patiently for the gloating to finish, and when he got tired of that, he stuck his pool cue out to trip Dean. 

Luckily, Dean saw the trap. Sadly however, his brain was slow to get the information to his legs and Dean went down like a wounded bird. He didn’t go down alone though, grabbing chaotically for a lifeline, snagging Lucifer’s belt and pulling him down to the floor. It didn’t help Dean in the slightest. If anything the company on the way down made it so much worse, because Lu landed hard on top of him, all elbows and knees and sharp pain that was heavily dulled by the liquor padding his nervous system.

It had been too long since Dean had the chance to laugh so hard, or to be so drunk, and it felt amazing. Neither of them seemed capable of untangling their limbs and getting up off the floor, and that was ok. Dean couldn’t find anything wrong with the way that Lucifer’s face was buried in his hair, or the way that the man’s long fingered hands were tangled in the loose folds of his flannel. 

Dean made some vague attempt at getting back on his feet, but was laughing too much to push Lucifer off, and all he managed was to partially roll them on to their sides. 

“Are-are you ok?” Lucifer, who was clearly a close talker while drunk, asked. He reached up to fit a hand over Dean’s, which apparently had been cradling the back of his head. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean tenderly felt around on his own scalp, easily finding a bump that hadn’t been there before he’d hit the floor. “Lucky this thick skull of mine broke my fall.”

“No,” Lucifer whined softly, “move your hand, lemme see it.”

“It’s fine,” Dean promised, but let the other man investigate the bump, and found himself smiling at the uncharacteristically tender concern on the blond’s face.

What little pain there was faded quickly under the gentle touch, and instantly triggered Dean’s suspicion. “Did you just magic me?”

“Only a little,” Lucifer confessed.

“One coma this week wasn’t enough for you?”

“It’s just the littest, tintsy-tiny bit of magic,” he waved away any concern, his fingers dragging down the side of Dean’s neck. “You land on anything else important?”

Dean wasn’t sure how to respond at first, especially with the distracting way that Lucifer was still stroking his throat. “My, um, my elbow?” He offered, slowly bending his arm at an odd angle to offer up his slightly rug burned skin that hadn’t been protected by his rolled up sleeve. 

Dutifully, Lucifer examined Dean’s elbow, wiping away the redness with a single pass of his thumb. He nodded to himself, then raised his eyes to meet Dean’s again. “Anywhere else?”

It was a weighty look, and Dean fought with himself for a moment before offering up, “I sort of bit…” he pouted, sticking out his lower lip, “right here.”

“Oh no,” Lucifer managed to say with very believable concern. He closed the small space between them and brushed a very gentle, chaste kiss over Dean’s lower lip. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, his insides feeling soft and dreamy. A feeling that didn’t last, as laughter bubbled up inside of him. “Dude, you kissed it better. That’s like the coolest and also dumbest thing.”

“You want me to undo it?”

Curiosity piqued, Dean asked a little too eagerly, “Can you?”

The simple answer was yes, but not in whatever way that Dean had been expecting, as Lucifer kissed him slow and open-mouthed, pulling back enough to catch his teeth on Dean’s lower lip with a sharp little bite. 

His mind went pleasantly blank other than a very pressing need for a second kiss.

“And you can’t make me kiss that one better,” Lucifer whispered with his lips gently brushing against Dean’s as he spoke.

Before he had a chance to take the man up on that deliciously breathless challenge, the door to the room opened though, and Dean froze in place, his heart suddenly hammering like a teenager who’d been caught by his parents. 

From his and Luci’s clumsy and tangled position, Dean was able to crane his neck and watch their younger brothers sneaking into the room like they were in a spy movie.

Relaxing in increments as confusion overtook his other emotions, Dean silently watched the two teenagers swipe a half full bottle of vodka from the bar, taking a moment to stop and celebrate their amazing heist with a slow make out session against the counter. The kissing and pawing probably only lasted three minutes tops, but it was damn near the three longest, most disgusting minutes of Dean’s life. 

He could have put an end to it by simply demanding ‘ _ what the hell do you two think you’re doing?’ _ but every time he attempted to push past the visceral ick of the giggly teens feeling one another up, Lucifer hushed him. The man ended up putting and hand over both their eyes, hiding the peep show from their communal view. It was a little bit of effort that almost wasn’t needed, as the kids shortly left the room, no doubt to go lick each other somewhere more private. 

“Well, that was disgusting,” Dean said once he heard the door close. He pried up Lucifer’s fingers and held the man’s hand up above their heads.

“Be nice,” Lucifer chided, coming out from behind his hand as well, moving it to rest on the carpet with their other hands, both their bodies stretched long. “They’re still learning.”

“It wasn’t a skill or technique issue,” Dean pointed out. “I’m just not into watching toddlers trying to eat each other’s faces.”

“Stop it. We were teenagers too,” Lucifer reminded with a whiskey smooth edge of laughter. “I think they’re sorta cute.”

“ _ Cute _ ?” Dean repeated. “Babe, you’re so drunk.”

“Only a little more than a little drunk,” he corrected, slowly lacing his fingers together with Dean’s. “Come on. I’m sure you were just as bad when you were their age.”

“Not really.”

“An awful flirt like you?” Lucifer chuckled. “You must have been at every party, drinking all the underaged drinks, spinning every bottle, spending seven minutes in every heaven.”

“I… I mean, I’d hang out with some other kids by the river sometimes during the summer and we’d drink beer we stole from our parents,” Dean frowned, stretching his arms as high over head as he could, feeling Lucifer shifting his weight against him. “I grew up in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Texas. Highschool class of forty eight kids, and we were all farm kids. Didn’t really do much partying.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“You never got to play spin the bottle?”

“One time, when I was ten,” Dean reminisced, feeling a smile start to grow. “I played it with the babysitter’s daughter and her friends from next door. Don’t know about her, but it was my first kiss.”

Lucifer laughed, curling in against Dean and hiding his face for a moment, breathily whispering, “No! That’s disgustingly cute.”

“Shuddaph,” Dean snickered, not able to actually get upset at being laughed at. 

“What about― what about,” Lucifer struggled to get the words through his laughter, looking up with happily damp eyes, “what about―”

“Take your time,” Dean urged.

“What about,” the man took a too deep breath that ended in one of those unexpected little snorts of laughter, “Seven Minutes? That’s peak teenage hormone nonsense. You had to’ve played that one.”

“Gotta be honest, Luci,” Dean untangled a hand and drew it down to push hair off the man’s forehead, soothing some of that erratic, drunken laughter. “I’ve no clue what y’er talkin’ about.”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” he insisted, letting go of Dean’s last hand so he could push him back into the carpet and shake him. “That was my favorite. It was the best, I mean the  _ best _ . Everyone’s played it.”

“No one knows what you’re talking about,” Dean insisted, batting the man away and unsteadily pushed himself up to sitting. “Come on. Get your drunk ass up. I can’t believe a neat freak like you's on the floor.”

It took more than a little effort to get them both back on their feet, and they only managed it by leaning heavily on one another for support. It was the only way that Dean had been able to move Lucifer around the night before, so in a way it was a familiar feeling, and they were actually getting pretty damn good at it. 

Well, not good, but it got them out of the room at least. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, thank you from the depths of my squishy marshmallow heart for all your kind comments and for the unexpected holiday gifts to my Ko-fi. I very actually cried happy tears at your generosity and sweet words. Ya'll are the best <3
> 
> have yourselves a distracting, long, roller coaster of a chapter.   
> Holy heck, rereading through this before posting it, I've got to say, it jumps around a bit and definitely goes from some pleasant highs to some 'all aboard the pain train' moments.

“Aren’t the stairs the other way?” Dean asked, finding himself being pulled sideways.

Exasperated and unsteady, Lucifer looped his arms around Dean’s reluctant neck and continued to pull him the wrong way down the hall. “Can’t play Seven Minutes on stairs, idiot.”

Whether or not he wanted, Dean was dragged along. “Do we need a stopwatch?”

Lucifer laughed. 

Dean didn’t understand why, but he also couldn’t help but join in, all that nice whiskey singing in his blood, making him warm and sloppy. 

And stupid. 

Borderline naive. 

He should have guessed just what this game was, long before he found himself inside a hall closet. The door opened and closed too fast for him to get a clear idea of his surroundings, everything tilting and dizzy and warm. 

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice bouncing back at him oddly in the tiny space. He reached out to wrap his hands around the other man’s arms, keeping him close so as not to run the risk of being let go and abandoned in the dark. “Kindly what the fuck, Lu?”

“This is how you play.”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

Lucifer hummed in soft agreement.

“Babe. Luci. Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is a closet.”

“You gotta  _ make _ it heaven.”

It was clear just how damn drunk Dean was, because he didn’t understand what the hell the other man was talking about.

“Channel your inner teen,” Lucifer advised, “You’re atta party, drinkin’ margarita mix from the bottle with other kids from school. Super nervous. Not even drunk, jus’ on a sugar high.”

Dean laughed, squeezing the man’s arms, loving how oddly specific this slurred story was. 

“Your friends push you an’ your crush into a closet an’ hold the door closed.”

“Oh no,” Dean laughed at this unexpected turn of events.

“You’ve got seven minutes... all alone with him.”

Dean’s laughter faded as his soggy brain caught up with Lucifer’s story. “Oh no,” he repeated his earlier sentiment, a tickle of nerves making him grin in a way he was glad the other man couldn’t see because of the dark. “So… so, uh, if I’m channeling my inner teenager, and I’m in a closet… with you… are you my crush?”

“Yes,” Lucifer sighed, like this answer should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, shit,” Dean chuckled, slowly pulling his arms around the other man’s waist, “and I’ve already wasted thirty seconds.”

A sound almost like a giggle escaped Lucifer, the noise fading quickly as Dean brushed their lips together like a question. 

Even drunk, and even as much as Dean wanted it, he still had to ask. 

His insides were a bundle of nerves and he didn’t know why, and he didn’t have a chance to try and untangle that mess before Lucifer was closing the gap and answering that unasked question with a resounding ‘yes please’ made up of hungry, slow, biting kisses.

Making out wasn’t something that Dean had done in months. Quick and dirty fumbles didn’t really allow for the time needed to waste on  _ just _ kissing. 

And clearly this had been a huge oversight on Dean’s part. 

Drunken footing led them into a wall, which was handy because the wall held them upright while they had more important things to occupy them. Lucifer’s mouth had moved down to Dean’s neck, kissing and biting until Dean couldn’t stand it anymore and he knotted his hands in the man’s hair and pulled him back into kissing range. 

Somewhere in all their shifting and touching, their hips came together, and Lucifer’s hands made their way under Dean’s shirt, his long fingers tracing patterns along Dean’s sides. With no need at all to rush the slow exploration of each other, they could have kept going far past seven minutes, except without warning the closet door opened and momentarily blinded Dean with the warm red glow of the gas lights in the hall. 

It was hard to say who looked more surprised, Lucifer, Dean, or Gadreel. 

The man stood there with an utterly unreadable expression on his face, rain water running down his temples and darkening the shoulders of his coat.

It was unnecessarily awkward tension, and Dean couldn’t take it. Grinning with his kiss-bruised lips, he nodded to their surprise audience. “You just comin’ by to check on your brother?” He asked because that seemed to be what he was always asking the other man.

The words shook Gadreel free of his blank-faced silence and a frown bloomed. He shrugged out of his coat and took down one of the empty hangers, speaking softly to Lucifer as he went through the motions of putting his coat up. “If it’s all the same to you, would you mind molesting the help in the privacy of your own home? I’m sure the rest of the family would prefer to be spared from seeing what a disgusting hypocrite you’ve become.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, but hung up his coat and closed the door on the two men pressed into the back corner.

Dean readied to break the recurring awkwardness, but Lucifer was letting go and leaving the closet, and tripping over his own feet, Dean followed. “H-hey, Luci―”

“I’m going to bed,” the man announced, keeping one hand on the wall as he walked away with purposeful strided. Clumsy, but purposeful. 

And Dean had no choice but to trail after the other man, as worry turned nauseatingly in his stomach. 

A deep hush had fallen over the big house. The night had gotten late at some point while they’d been playing pool, and the fact that anyone else in the house had probably gone to bed hours ago was the only reason that Dean didn’t yell at the blond who was drunkenly scurrying away from him.

“Luci―” Dean hissed, “Lucifer, god damn it, slow down, you long legged son of a bitch.”

“You’re sleeping in your own room tonight,” the man called over his shoulder before attempting to mount the main staircase. 

“Like hell I am,” Dean laughed harshly. “That’s not how this works.” He sacrificed dignity for speed, using his hands and feet on the stairs to catch up with the retreating man. He grabbed Lucifer around the waist and clung to him like an anchor, partially to keep him in place, but more so to keep himself from drunkenly sliding back down the stairs. “Just hold the fuck up.”

“How this works,” Lucifer took hold of Dean’s wrists and began prying him off, “is that you do whatever I say. And I say that you’re getting some good sleep in your own bed tonight.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, boss,” Dean held his ground, standing a step lower than Lucifer and craning his neck to look up. “I have to do whatever  _ Michael _ says. I don’t give a flying fuck what you tell me to do.”

Lucifer turned in the circle of Dean’s arms, pointedly saying, “You’re drunk.”

“So are you. We were having fun. That was all. Any and all of your brothers can go to hell.”

“I’m going to bed,” Lucifer repeated stubbornly, his eyes a little too wide.

“ _ We _ can go to bed if that’s what you want.”

“Alone.”

“Not a chance,” Dean refused to budge and it had absolutely nothing to do with any direct order that Michael had ever given him. 

“Please don’t do this,” Lucifer begged. “I-I’m too drunk, and I...”

Dean let out a rattling breath and carefully let go. Into the confused silence he offered up what he hoped came off as a tender smile and said, “Alright. We probably both had too much to drink. Bed sounds pretty good.”

Lucifer wasn’t quick to buy the surrender though, pointedly, slowly, announcing, “I’m going alone.” 

“You want the bed to yourself, you got it,” Dean easily saw his way around this argument, letting the man go, but still following after him.

Clearly, Lucifer thought they’d reached an agreement though, because with a relieved sigh, he tried to go into his bedroom alone, and legitimately looked confused to see Dean still following.

“What are you doing?” Lucifer demanded. 

Dean didn’t answer, walking himself to the chair he’d been using to block their door at night, and sat himself down.

“What.Are.You.Doing?” Each one of Lucifer’s words dragging with so much weight.

“You wanted the bed to yourself,” Dean let his head fall back, closing his eyes and folding his hands over his stomach. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a frustrated sound, Lucifer shuffled through the room, locking the door, shedding his suit, and crawling beneath the mountain of blankets.

The chair was possibly the most uncomfortable one that Dean had ever sat in, but he could always move to the floor and settle in once Lucifer had drifted off to sleep and wouldn’t challenge his poor decision.

Only, Lucifer kept on rolling restlessly for what felt like half an hour.

“It’s too cold to sleep,” Lucifer finally announced into the darkness of the room.

“You want another blanket?” Dean offered

The man groaned indifferently in reply.

Dean got up, toeing off his shoes before pulling aside the blankets and climbing into bed.

“No,” Lucifer pushed lightly at him. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t have to―”

“Come here,” Dean cut him off, pulling Lucifer by the arms, tugging him in close until the blond was tucked up against him like he belonged. “This is where I want to sleep, you son of a bitch. If you don’t like it, tough.”

Surprisingly enough, no argument immediately came, which was for the best, because the late hour suddenly decided to catch up with Dean and he felt utterly exhausted.

“This isn’t what I meant.” Lucifer whispered eventually, his words running together and muffled as he spoke with his face pressed into Dean’s chest. 

“Go the fuck to sleep, Lu.” Drunk Dean wasn’t equipped to do damage control on whatever the hell switch that had been thrown in the other man’s mind. 

Shifting from deliciously making out like teenagers who didn’t believe in consequences, to ‘don’t touch me and I’m sleeping alone tonight’, was one hell of a U-turn for Dean to try and keep pace with. 

He’d simply have to leave it as a problem for sober-Dean to deal with in the morning. 

And with that decided, he nestled deep under the pile of blankets with Lucifer, and drifted off to sleep; only to wake at some confusing point in the future with his head pounding dully.

Light was streaming into the room between the curtains and the other side of the bed was cold and empty.

Yes, Dean was still in the Williams’ home, so probably Lucifer was lurking not too far away, but their short time together had trained Dean to need to know where the other man was at all times. Waking up alone was not acceptable. 

Ignoring the beginnings of a hangover, Dean dragged himself out of bed.

Shoving his feet into his boots, and moving with a purpose, Dean made it halfway down the hall before he saw Lucifer coming up the stairs.

“You’re awake?” The other man asked hesitantly. 

“Not quite,” Dean grumbled, then raised his voice, “You’re not supposed to leave without me. Wake me up next time or something.”

“I was coming right back,” Lucifer brushed off the small lecture, turning it around and looking impatiently at Dean. “Is that what you’re wearing today?”

“It’s too damn early to start this again, babe,” Dean reached out to catch the top curve of the banister, steadying himself. “They’re  _ just _ jeans. I know, I know, and I slept in them, like a filthy heathen. I don’t need to hear it right now.”

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight irritably from one leg to another until finally seemed to come to a decision and advised, “Put your jacket on. It’s cold outside.”

Dean cast a wistful look back towards the bedroom, towards the warm blankets and soft bed, before sighing and saying, “It’s too early for whatever it is you’re about to make me do.”

Admittedly, Dean was hoping that they were going to head home. 

Technically, he’d come to the Williams’ home to keep Sam safe, because that’s what big brothers were supposed to do. But, admittedly, Sam seemed fine with little to no help at all from Dean. 

Lucifer, on the other hand, clearly needed some kind of supervision, but the longer they stayed in the Willaims’ home, the less and less Dean felt like he had a handle on the situation.

He sleepily followed the other man, dogging his steps like always, down stairs and outside into the sharp morning air. 

It took Dean far longer than it should have to realise that they were headed to the stables. 

“Am I allowed to know what’s goin’ on, boss? Or is it a surprise?”

“You won last night,” Lucifer said after a moment, choosing his words slowly.

Dean’s brain felt like someone was playing it like a bongo, and he squinted at the sun that had barely started to crest the tree line, as he pulled his jacket more tightly around himself. “Yeah? What did I win?”

Lucifer’s steps slowed and he half turned to face Dean. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s… foggy.” He sniffed, dragging his feet. “We played pool?”

“I didn’t realise you were that drunk,” Lucifer frowned, coming to stand still. “If you don’t remember last night then … then never mind. I was… you know what? It’s nothing. We can go back to the house.”

“Hey, give me some credit,” Dean elbowed the man gently, grinning, “I remember the important stuff, like you helping me channel my inner teenager in that closet.”

For the smallest moment, Lucifer managed to actually look embarrassed, suddenly very interested in his shoes, only to glance up in time to catch Dean winking at him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucifer flatly lied, but it was done so obviously that Dean couldn’t hold it against the guy.

“Yeah, alright,” Dean chuckled, kicking lightly at the grass. “So, uh, did I kick your ass at pool or what?”

“It was a close game,” Lucifer answered after a moment.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. I paid my rent for two years by hustling pool out in Jersey. I’m sure I didn’t go easy on you. Sorry if I was an ass about it.”

“You’re an ass about everything,” Lucifer shot back with an edge of a grin in his voice. He picked back up their walk, moving slowly further and further from the house.

“So,” Dean matched the taller man’s stride, “what did I win?”

Lucifer met his gaze, and held it a little too long, the wheels behind his eyes turning, and Dean waited eagerly to hear what sort of lies the other man was about to offer up. 

“You wanted me to come riding with you this morning,” Lucifer finally said. 

Which Dean absolutely would have asked for, but by the way that the other man was watching him like he was waiting to be called out, Dean had some doubts.

“Well, fuck yeah then,” Dean laughed. “Two points for drunk me knowing what he wanted. What are we still waiting around here for? Let’s go.”

Easier said than done, because when they reached the stables it was quick and easy to see that none of the horses were ready to go anywhere. 

Dean frowned at the long line of stalls and folded his arms. “What the hell were you doing out of bed so early this morning, if it wasn’t saddling up two horses for us?”

“I was packing breakfast,” Lucifer explained simply, lifting up an honest to god picnic basket that had been waiting beside the door. “I’m leaving the hard labor to you, since you’re the one who wanted to go on a ride.”

More than a little sure that he’d asked for no such thing, Dean went to work. He was too stunned by the clear and visible signs of this being some kind of date, to properly argue with Lucifer. He pulled out the saddle that he’d used the past couple days, and gave a quick brushing and a quick snack to the speckled mare that he’d been slowly befriending. He got her ready for a ride, and looked over to see that Lucifer had been standing idly by, watching the whole thing with clearly zero intentions of helping at all. 

“You plan on riding in my lap, princess?” Dean asked the other man. “Or am I saddling up your horse too?”

“I told you already that you were.”

No one could blame Dean for being hopeful. 

“Alright,” he gestured down the line of stalls, “You plan to tell me which one is yours, or do I get to guess?”

“I don’t have a horse of my own,” Lucifer said dismissively, shifting from foot to foot and looking out at the pasture instead of at the animals. “Just pick me out a nice one.”

As tempting as it was to make trouble, Dean only nodded and saddled up Potato because he’d seen Gabriel riding the horse and it seemed like a good, calm animal. 

If drunk Dean really had decided to take a morning ride as his winnings from the game the night before, he apparently hadn’t bothered to tell Lucifer exactly where it was that he wanted to actually go riding to. 

Which left it up to slightly sober, slightly hung over Dean to decide, with Lucifer simply promising that he’d follow. 

Problem was, Dean didn’t know the property all that well. Hell, he didn’t even really know where the property lines were. 

He did know one trail though, so the decision―good or bad―was an easy one to make. 

______________________________________

“Hey, Lu,” Dean coaxed his horse to a gentle stop and grinned as he watched the other man struggle to get Potato to do the same, “you thinkin’ maybe we can stop and have some breakfast?”

“God yes,” Lucifer said almost like relief, sliding far less than gracefully to the ground.

Dean stifled a laugh and easily dismounted, taking the reins of both the horses and tying them to a low and sturdy tree branch. He turned back to his boss to see Lucifer tenderly rubbing the insides of his legs and grimacing. 

“Been a while since you last rode?” Dean asked innocently.

The other man quickly straightened and cleared his throat. “A little while.”

“Hurts like a son of a bitch, right?” Dean asked, grinning as Lucifer scowled back in answer. “Come on. Let’s eat. It’ll take your mind off it.”

Lucifer looked doubtful, but handed the picnic basket over to Dean, and looked around them for apparently the first time. 

“You… We…” Lucifer tried to say something, but quickly gave up in favor of looking deeply at the pile of rubble balanced on the edge of the bluffs. 

“The view’s great, right?” Dean gave a gentle nudge, urging the other man forward. “Come on. I’m starving.”

Lucifer let himself be gently pushed along, quickly recovering from his surprise. “I guess Dad really gave you the grand tour, didn’t he?”

“No. What are you talking about?” Dean glanced at the other man while they rounded the crumbling foundation of the old lighthouse, “I had no idea this was even up here.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Lucifer said, laughter softening the accusation. 

“Says the man who packed us a romantic little breakfast,” Dean grinned, earring himself a sharp shove sideways. 

“It’s just breakfast,” Lucifer argued, pointedly looking away from Dean as he climbed the worn, stone steps up to the broken doors.

Dean found his feet dragging, uncertain. He’d brought them here on a whim. He hadn’t actually planned on entering the abandoned structure. “We going inside?”

“You brought us to the windiest cliff in all of New York, so yeah, I’m going inside to eat.” He hardly glanced back, “It’s safe, come on, coward.”

Dean could put up with a lot, but not with being called a coward. He followed Lucifer up the steps and into the shattered shell of a building. 

It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, and it was even less once they passed through the empty doorframe. A round brick foundation covered in old leaves and driftwood and low walls that barely managed to block the wind. 

“I think… I think I expected something a little more,” Dean frowned, searching for the word he wanted, “ _ exciting _ for your childhood hideaway.”

“It’s been about a million years since I last came out here. My tent, and candles, and gin bottles, and everything else are long gone.”

“A million years?”

Lucifer shot Dean a brief and crooked grin. “I was rounding up.”

“Rounding up?”

“To the nearest millionth,” he explained before finding a suitable bit of floor and simply sat down and began to dig into the basket. Dean didn’t have much choice other than to sit down as well. 

The moment he landed on the cold bricks a thermos was pushed into his hands, and he opened it to a waft of steam and the scent of coffee. He took a long drink, burning his tongue, and sighing with soft content. “You’re a saint,” Dean pointed out, knocking his shoulder into the other man’s.

Unexpectedly, a blanket came out next, and Dean eyed it with trepidation.

“Because wherever we were going was going to be cold,” Lucifer explained, reading Dean like a book, “don’t look at me like that.”

Cold. 

Right.

Clearly it was cold out. 

But that’s not where Dean’s mind had gone.

Encroaching hangover or not, he still remembered kissing in the closet the night before, and it wasn’t at all out of line that those few minutes would color a lot of his and Lucifer’s interactions moving forward.

He could do his best to gloss over it though, since clearly that’s what Lucifer wanted to do, and what Dean knew he  _ should _ be doing. So, instead he teased, grinning, “Oh, and I’m sure, a million years ago, when people actually used to go on picnics that it was very normal to bring a blanket to sit on, or whatever.”

“You want to be a smart ass about it, fine. I don’t have to share.” Lucifer smugly wrapped the blanket around himself and stole the coffee from Dean.

“Don’t be like that. If I freeze to death then who’s going to help you get back up on that horse you were so uncomfortable riding? You’ll never be able to get back to the house. You’ll be stuck out here.”

“At least I’ll have my pride, and my blanket.”

“Keep ‘em,” Dean snorted and pulled the picnic basket close, “I’ll just take these here.”

It wasn’t a large basket, definitely smaller than Dean had imagined that picnic baskets should be, and looking inside he realised that the majority of the space had been taken up by Lucifer’s stupid blanket. There must have just been enough room to squeeze in the thermos and an aluminum foil wrapped bowl. Dean curiously opened the container and felt a grin blossom over his face. 

“Luci, I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said or thought about you.”

“Because I packed pie for breakfast?”

Dean looked up, laughing happily at the man’s clear lack of understanding or enthusiasm. “Because you packed fucking cherry pie for breakfast, you beautiful son of a bitch. If I didn’t know I’d get punched in the mouth for it, I’d kiss you.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

Dean lifted up the bowl, looking into the clearly empty basket and feeling his heart fall. “Did you remember to pack forks?”

Lucifer blinked those pale, sleepy eyes of his, once, then twice. “Look, I think I got about three hours of sleep. I’m allowed to forget a fork or two. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But… h-how am I supposed to pie?” Dean whined, not at all caring that ‘pie’ was not a verb in the traditional sense. 

Lucifer leaned back against a sturdy piece of the wall, tucking the blanket up under his chin. “Not my problem, I’m just over here with my blanket and coffee, warm and happy.”

A simple thing like dignity was not going to get between Dean and some pie. Certainly not cherry pie. Dean scrubbed his hands against his jeans, as if that somehow made them clean, and simply picked up a crumbly, gooey bite of pie.

There were two slices of breakfast in the bowl, neither of which Dean had any intentions of sharing, because clearly Lucifer was over there with no intentions of sharing either the coffee or the blanket. 

Honestly, Dean was getting the better end of the deal. 

Which must have been very obvious, because before he managed to finish the first slice of pie, the other man was sidling up beside him. The blanket was generously draped over Dean’s shoulders, a warm arm bracing against his back. 

“Yeah?” Dean glanced sideways at Lucifer. “Can I help you?”

“I packed the pie,” Lucifer started in, using an incredibly reasonable voice, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder, “I deserve at least a bite or two.”

Not really knowing what the man was expecting here, Dean held out the bowl, offering it up.

Lucifer didn’t reach out. 

His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he opened his mouth, and he waited.

“Is this the whole master plan?” Dean asked with a laugh, pushing his weight gently back into the man pressing in against his side. “You deliberately forget to pack the forks, and then I’ve got to feed you pie?”

“That’s a pretty weak-ass master plan.” Lucifer thumped the flat of his hand against the small of Dean’s back. “Give me some credit… and some food.”

Dean would not. 

Instead, he fed himself another pinch of pie, pointedly sucking the red goo off his thumb before saying, “You want pie, you feed it to yourself.”

By which he meant that Lucifer was allowed to dig into the bowl and have some breakfast. He didn’t mean it as an offer for the other man to take Dean’s hand and suck his index finger clean. 

Pulling back, his mouth making such a small and indecent little  _ pop _ , Lucifer pointed out, “It would be stupid for us both to get sticky fingers,” as he licked pie crust crumbs from the corner of his mouth, slowly letting go of Dean’s hand.

And boy, but that was some water tight logic right there.

“I mean,” Dean struggled to find a decent argument, but came up with nothing, “that’s a… that’s a very good point.”

“Yes, but you can tell me how smart I am while feeding me pie.”

This all fell somewhere nebulous between flirting and over-indulging, and Dean wished he could figure out which direction that hungry look on the other man’s face was pointing in.

But, unless told otherwise, he’d stick to Lucifer just being an absolut brat as it was less likely to get Dean in trouble. 

“God, you’re such a princess sometimes,” he sighed, complaining even as he skewered a cherry on one finger and fed it to the other man. 

Lucifer ate his damn bite of pie, flattening his tongue along Dean’s digit, licking him clean but never making eye contact, and never making a single indecent sound. 

Dean absolutely hated it.

“A fu-king pa-rin-cess,” he sounded out each syllable, adding in a little extra for good measure.

“Maybe,” Lucifer said, looking up from under his lashes, “but maybe you just need to learn when to tell me no.” 

“I tell you ‘no’ all the god damned time, you son of a bitch. You just never listen.”

With a soft laugh, Lucifer tucked himself even closer to Dean, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. “You are hand feeding me pie… how is that telling me no exactly?”

Simply put: there were some things that Dean wanted an excuse to say yes to. 

Which was an uncomfortable thing to realise, and it made Dean instantly want to lash out―but as tempting as it was to smash a bite of pie across Lucifer’s face in place of a response to the accusation, Dean was strong and resisted.

The two of them had made a lot of progress over the last month, and they’d come an awful long way from Lucifer threatening murder if Dean so much as dared touch him. But they still weren’t, and realistically never would, arrive at a place where Dean could survive something as suicidally stupid as getting Lucifer sticky.

Instead, Dean carefully picked up a bit more pie, and then waited for the man to open that awful mouth of his. 

Dean smugly ate the piece and grinned at the wide eyed look of betrayal Lucifer gave in return. “You don’ want sticky fingers, then don’ get sticky fingers,” he explained as he sucked his own fingers clean, one at a time, “but I ain’t feedin’ you.”

“Rude,” was all Lucifer had to say.

Maybe it was? 

But, Dean wasn’t going to let that stand between him and cherry pie for breakfast. 

However, the way that Lucifer was watching Dean’s mouth as he ate ran a pretty good chance for disrupting any spiteful eating plans. Three more bites in and starting to feel ever so slightly self conscious, Dean licked the corners of his mouth in search of wayward crumbs but found nothing. 

“You’re kind of a bastard sometimes,” Lucifer finally said with a crooked smile creeping in. 

Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to deny that fact, the other man’s unexpected smile making his own stomach do somersaults and derailing his train of thought. 

“I like that about you,” Lucifer added, his voice going small, nearly drowned out by the sound of waves crashing beyond their shelter. 

Five small words, but they made Dean suddenly very aware of how closely the other man was pressed against his side. He had to fight back an almost overwhelming need to say or do something stupid, and grinning he joked, “If you’re still tryin’ to get me to feed you, you’re wasting your breath.”

Lucifer let out an unexpectedly awkward little laugh, looking away. “No. I… I was trying to apologise for last night. Things got―”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Luci. Most of last night is just a happy drunk haze for me, and the bit I do remember isn’t,” it was Dean’s turn to laugh awkwardly. “We’re both adults, man.  _ Consenting _ adults who just had a bit too much to drink. You don’t got to apologise.”

Like he was trying to buy himself time, Lucifer suddenly became incredibly distracted by a need to eat. He drew a hand out of the shelter of their blanket and carefully scooped a bit of pie from the bowl Dean still held. The blond fed himself with carefully selected bites, his sticky fingers not slowing him down in the slightest.

In the month that Dean had known the other man, he’d seen Lucifer either perfectly put together or an absolute bloody mess, but hardly ever anything in between. 

This was one of those rare moments, a glimpse of something scarce and fleeting, with Lucifer’s shirt fully buttoned up, a perfect double windsor knot in his tie, with his eyes bloodshot from too much liquor and not enough sleep, and crumbs decorating his lower lip.

He could have very almost been mistaken for a normal person.

Dean was pretty damn good at resisting attractive monsters and average bad guys, but he had always been weak when it came to normal people. Especially ones who looked so cute while hungover and eating pie.

Adorable disasters like Lucifer were very nearly enough to make Dean forget about his job, even if only for a few minutes.

Not thinking his actions fully though, and very determined not to give himself a chance to overthink himself, Dean set aside the mostly empty bowl, freeing his hands to catch Lucifer’s face and pull the other man into a slow, lingering kiss. 

Lucifer opened his cherry-sweet mouth in protest, his sticky words all but lost in a fumbling moment as he pushed his hands flat to Dean’s chest. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t shove Dean off. He sat there, breaths coming fast and shallow, not kissing back, holding himself as still as a deer in headlights.

It was such a stunned, uncomfortable reaction, that it tore a sharp laugh out of Dean before he could help himself. “Sorry. Sorry,” he held his hands up, turning his face towards the sky, “really misread the room there. Feel free to take a swing at me if you want. I’ve probably earned it.”

No well deserved punch came though, and Dean risked a glance at the other man. 

Lucifer’s attention was fixated on the thermos that had been left on the ground between their knees. Not reaching for it, just looking at it for what felt like far too long before he finally spoke in a cautious tone, “You’ve got pie on your shirt.”

Dean looked down to see faint sticky smudges where the other man’s hands had pressed against him. He chuckled softly, wiping at it, making it worse. Thankfully it was just a black t-shirt though and it would easily wash off. “I know you hate these jeans, but I didn’t know you had it in for my shirt too,” he teased gently, trying to draw a smile out of the other man. 

No such luck.

“We should head back,” Lucifer said in that same careful way, even though he was making no move to get to his feet. 

“Are you getting cold?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m getting nervous that the longer we’re here the better the chances are that one of us is going to do something that they shouldn’t.”

“Like one of us making an ass out of himself by kissing the other guy when he clearly didn’t want to be kissed?” 

Lucifer's shoulders hunched up and he tucked his chin down to his chest. It was a very young, very sulking teenager sort of movement, and Dean couldn’t keep himself from grinning. 

“Look… I’m shit at this kind of thing, if you couldn’t already tell.” Dean laughed his way through the awful explanation. Buying himself a little more time to get his thoughts together, he reached for the coffee and took a healthy drink before forcibly passing it over to the man beside him. “I get it though. You wanna keep things professional. I can do that, boss.”

“That’s not―” Lucifer raised his voice, but shut himself down just as quickly, his jaw clenching and making angry shadows on his unshaved cheeks. “I… I can’t do this,” he finally said in the smallest, most defeated voice. 

Now, Dean knew he was bad at talking through any kind of feelings, that was just the kind of household he’d grown up in. But he couldn’t hold a candle to Lucifer. 

“Don’t even worry about it, Luci.” Dean got up, dusting himself off and trying to put himself back together, even as his thoughts were still swimming. 

“Can we go home?”

The question caught him off guard and he shifted uncomfortably before picking up the blanket that had fallen off their shoulders. “Course we can.” Dean wasn’t used to being asked permission for things, definitely not from Lucifer, and it was all he could do to play it off with a smile and an easy sounding laugh. “It’s too early and too cold for a delicate princess like yourself to be out, anyways.”

“I don’t mean to the big house. I mean to the apartment.”

Dean paused in his uneven folding of the blanket, letting it hang loosely between his hands. 

Lucifer finally looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “I know you wanted to be here to keep your brother safe, but I haven't spent this long out here since I was sixteen and I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. I  _ need _ to go home.” 

There were more reasons to stay at the Williams estate than to leave. Dean had obligations as a big brother to stay and protect Sammy, and he had a six year running commitment as an FBI agent to get closer to Marlon.

And neither of those things mattered right then.

Because by that afternoon, Dean was back in the apartment, tossing his duffle bag down beside his old friend the couch while Lucifer face planted into the center of the bed.

It was laughably familiar and comfortable, and Dean hadn’t realised how tightly he’d been holding himself for the days that they’d been in the Williams’ home. 

But, as much as he wanted to crawl into bed beside the big lump of a man, there were other things he needed to do. Like getting a shower and a shave, making lunch, and wondering what the large sealed envelope on the table was, and how long had it been there.

With an unimpressive peanut butter and honey sandwich in one hand, and the mystery envelope in the other, Dean came and sat on the edge of the bed. Prodding the clearly dozing Lucifer, Dean used a gentle voice to say, “Get your sorry ass up and eat. It’ll make you feel better.”

One blue eye opened, and Lucifer squinted up at him from the cushy nest of blankets he’d fallen into. 

“Protein,” Dean said, sliding the sandwich closer. “And we need to order some groceries. The kitchen’s looking kinda’ sad.”

Lucifer grunted.

“Then maybe take a turn in the shower. We can get a new bandage on your leg, you can get into one of your cute suits, and it’ll be great.”

“You’ve gone full mom-mode at this point, and it’s frightening,” Lucifer mumbled into the blankets.

“It’s more butler-mode,” Dean used the envelope as a plate and set them both down beside the other man, “I couldn’t pull off the whole June Cleaver, heels and pearls look. It’s just not me.”

“That’s a haunting mental image,” Lucifer said with a hint of amusement as he slowly pushed himself up, only to frown at the envelope. “What is that?”

“Don’t know. It was on the table.”

Setting his sandwich on a knee, getting crumbs in the bed, Lucifer groggily hefted the envelope in his hands and frowned a little deeper. The thing got examined in the least normal way possible as Lucifer shook the envelope, then gave it a cautious sniff, and the smallest lick.

“This is more than your normal level of weird, Lu,” Dean finally interrupted. “It’s paper.”

“Suspicious paper.”

“You need me to open it for you?” Dean asked in the most condescending way he could. 

To which he earned himself a light smack upside the head with the envelope in question. Mumbling to himself, Lucifer tore the stupid thing open and pulled out a stack of papers divided up by heavy binder clips and glossy black a white photos. 

Dean only got the smallest peek at the top most picture, some dark haired man, late thirties, pushing a little boy on a park swing. Then Lucifer was fanning through the papers, only to make an irritated noise as he crammed them back into the envelope. 

“More work,” he explained, dropping the whole mess onto the floor and returning to his sandwich. “Crowley must have dropped it off while we were gone.”

“Here in the apartment and not downstairs?”

“He drops them off directly when they’re important. He knows I don’t go down to the work room that often.”

With a small pang of regret, Dean realised that they were going headlong back into the same schedule that they’d left less than a week ago. Taking care of unconscious Lucifer and a few nostalgic horseback riding trips were not vacation enough―even if that was the closest thing he’d had to a proper holiday in years. 

“So… this is how things go when there's not someone out there trying to kill you?”

“Basically, yeah,” Lucifer said with a small shrug. “I’ve got a solid goal to work myself to death before family obligations can make me do anything that I’ll really regret.”

Dean slowly realised that if he was going to sit there waiting for the other man to laugh and make a joke out of what he’d just said, then he would be waiting a very long time. 

“That’s… that’s a shitty plan, my friend.”

“Unlike your strong life goal of getting passed from one influential family to the next, doing dangerous jobs until you get yourself killed,” Lucifer said with a slow nod.

“It’s not an end game,” Dean tried to argue, not liking how easily his life could be boiled down to such small bullet points. 

Lucifer paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth, reaching up with the back of a wrist to rub one sleepy eye. “I can’t really see you settling down, trading in your guns for a white picket fence, nine to five job, and the traditional two-point-five children.”

Dean wanted to argue that he didn’t want any of that at all, and also: Lucifer didn’t know him nearly well enough to make that kind of judgement call. Instead, Dean put on a lopsided grin, gently elbowing the other man. “Don’t know about having any kids, but if I found the right person... I don’t think I’d mind attempting that whole suburban, law abiding citizen, quiet and happy, matching rings kinda lifestyle.”

“And how exactly would you finance this fairytale, law abiding life, exactly?”

“With how much your brother is paying me to babysit you?” Dean laughed. “I’m gonna be set for life.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Push yourself off the bed for me, I’m still too tired.”

“It was a joke,” Dean said in his defence, trying to smooth down the other man’s feathers.

Clearly whatever morose angst that had taken root in Lucifer’s brain was going to be playing third wheel with them for a while still. Which was completely fair considering all the family interactions that Dean had witnessed over the last month. 

“What about you?” Still, Dean relentlessly continued his efforts to coax a smile out of the man beside him. “If you could just leave, walk away from it all, what would you do with yourself?”

Lucifer took a large bite of sandwich, chewing slowly before answering. “Leaving isn’t really an option.” 

“Humor me,” Dean urged, nudging, keeping that simple and gentle physical contact since it was usually the best tool he had for his Luci-handling efforts. “Because I’m seeing you as a magical studies professor at some big university. You’d be teaching history of world religions, or witchcraft, or something, maybe with some of those little patches on the elbow of your cardigan, chalk dust in your hair, and you’d have super late office hours because you never sleep, and you’d be really standoffish to all your students but you’d still have a strong following of fangirls and fanboys, because… clearly, you’d be their hottest professor.”

“I was going to stop you at the chalk dust, but I was curious where this was going,” Lucifer gave Dean a little bit of judgemental side eye, but there was a hint of a smile only half hidden behind his raised sandwich. “You clearly have some weird teacher fetish that I don’t think I want to be part of.”

“Come on, man,” Dean leaned into that sliver of a smile he could see, “You’d look adorable in a sweater vest.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Then you tell me what you’d  _ ‘really’ _ want to do,” Dean used air quotes for emphasis, before whispering out the side of his mouth, “even though we both know deep down it’s being free to wear a sweater vest like the big nerd you secretly are.”

“Not the picket fence, fine upstanding citizen, backyard barbeque life that you’re clearly destined for. I’m not the ‘mowing the lawn on Saturday mornings kinda’ guy.” He set the last half of his sandwich back onto his knee, either done eating, or he simply needed his hands free to think this one fully through. “I’d want a cat.”

Dean laughed.

Lucifer shushed him, before continuing. “Not  _ just _ a cat… a pet would be nice though,” he smiled a little more openly at that thought. “I’d want to be the spooky witch who lives in the woods that everyone is too afraid to bother unless it’s for something actually important… Maybe I’d have space for an herb garden and I could have a skylight in my room so I can lay in bed with my husband and watch rain storms.”

It wasn’t at all what Dean had been expecting. 

Apparently Lucifer didn’t want a different life. 

He wanted the same one he had now, but more quiet, more peaceful, and under his own terms.

And Dean could respect that.

“You’re making my American dream goals sound pretty white toast and boring.”

“Not everyone has to want the same thing,” Lucifer shrugged one shoulder, his smile still lingering in a pleasant way. “Besides, between the two of us, you’d clearly be better equipped to pull off the June Cleaver look. You’ve got the legs for it.”

Dean looked down at his legs, back in dress slacks for the first time in days. They were just legs, but he’d take the compliment all the same.

“Hey now. Watch yourself,” Dean warned. “How’s your husband going to feel about you imagining my legs like that?”

Lucifer snorted in surprise. “What husband?”

“This one you’re watching storms with, while your cat sleeps on the foot of the bed.”

Color crept into Lucifer’s cheeks, and he picked back up his sandwich. “Didn’t realise I’d said that part out loud,” he said awkwardly behind a bite of bread.

“No shame, Luci. It sounds great and I’m just wishing I didn’t come up with it first.” Dean got up, scooping the discarded papers off the floor and heading to the kitchen. 

He’d told the truth. 

There was nothing at all wrong with wanting a quiet life and a big bed where you could lay for hours, just holding on to the person you loved. 

Too bad it wasn’t the sort of life that Dean could see either of them ending up in.

He cleared his throat while dumping dishes into the sink to soak. “Not for nothing, but you still look like shit.”

“Thanks, Dean. You always know the right thing to say.”

“You’ve got to read between the lines, man.” Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “You looking like you’ve been in a coma for a couple days means that you’re not doing any work today.”

“Now wait a second―”

“It’s a health concern,” Dean raised his voice to talk over the other man. “So, we can do whatever the fuck you want for the rest of the day, as long as it involves you relaxing. I’m not hauling your unconscious ass up or down any stairs tonight. Got it?”

“What about the ‘important enough to bring it to the apartment’ part of my work slipped past you?”

“No part of that work is getting done if you put yourself back in a coma. You only just woke up yesterday.”

“I know you get a kick out of bossing me around, Dean, but magic exhaustion doesn’t have a set recovery period. I feel up to working, so I am up to working.” 

“And tomorrow’s a great time to start,” Dean replied with a grin, insistent and stubborn.

“One spell, and then―”

“Nope.”

“One.Spell.” Lucifer repeated firmly. “Just the one on the top of the stack. Someone’s husband took off with their kid. Let me find them, I can drop the location off with Crowley, and you can do whatever you want with me for the rest of the night.” He nodded sharply, ignoring the fact that Dean hadn’t agreed, before getting up and heading for the shower.

Dean stood there for a stunned moment, blinking, before calling, “You can do spells like that?”

“Sometimes,” Lucifer called back, turning on the shower. “Go get me my black suit and the light blue hand sewn tie, any white shirt is fine.”

Even after a month of living with the other man’s particular fashion sense, Dean still couldn’t tell one tie type from another. It didn’t help that Lucifer owned more than one black suit, and at least a dozen slightly different light blue ties. 

“One spell,” Dean yelled at the closed door between them, “and just because it’s a kid,” he added before going on a hunt for the requested clothing. 

**_________________________**

There was something comforting in the way that Lucifer came out of the shower lecturing Dean on the tie he’d chosen and left on the hook behind the bathroom door.

“It’s blue,” Dean said in his own defence, “specifically  _ light _ blue.”

“It’s satin, and patterned, and not hand sewn,” Lucifer draped the offending tie around Dean’s shoulders, “but you tried, so thank you.” 

Dean was left blinking in confusion, watching the other man head to the closet to get whichever of his identical ties he’d been planning to wear. 

“You’re… feeling good,” Dean said haltingly as he shuffled the loose pages he’d been going through back into the envelope. Technically, it was snooping, but he’d been doing it out in the open and wasn’t getting yelled at for it, so Lucifer probably wasn’t bothered by the little invasion into his work life.

“I’m feeling  _ better _ ,” Lucifer corrected, coming back out with a new tie, easily settling it in under the fold of his collar. “Food, sleep, a shave... a few minutes alone,” he muttered as he tied his knot, not even needing to look in the mirror, or down at what he was doing. 

“Well, you look like you feel less crappy,” Dean said with a small smile of encouragement.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “Good enough that you’ll let me get some proper work done today?”

“Hell no,” Dean’s smile turned to a grin. He dropped the tie to the table and pulled out the singular job that they’d agreed to. “Here you go. I, uh, read through it a bit. That Crowley guy’s pretty damn thorough, isn’t he?”

“He’s got to be,” Lucifer took the pages and flipped through. “He knows I'm very selective about what sort of jobs I’ll take. If I’m going looking for a runaway spouse and a missing kid then I need to know damn sure that it isn’t some shit-head pulling abused family members back in.”

“This one’s got a police involved,” Dean reached out, flicking at the pages.

“Of course it does,” he said slowly, clearly distracted by what he was reading, “who else would have brought the file to Crowley?”

Honestly stunned, Dean took a moment to get out the question, “You’re working with the police?”

“Not directly,” Lucifer looked at Dean over the top of the pages, “what kind of criminal would I be if I was helping the police find missing children? Everyone would be so disappointed in me.” The sarcasm dripped heavily from his words and it was clear that the man was eagerly waiting for the day that his family found out just what he’d been up to. 

“You… you’re a complicated man, Luci.”

Lucifer smiled over his paperwork, clearly pleased.

And Dean felt a funny stirring of emotion that he hadn’t expected, something warm and tender, which he quickly tried to cover up with business talk. “The police paying you a decent consulting fee at least?”

“God no,” Lucifer tucked the papers under his arm and grabbed his keys, “do you have any idea how underfunded the New York City police are?” That toothy smile of his stayed happily in place. “Just between us, Crowley still gets paid his same finder’s fee regardless of where the jobs come from.”

“So... you’re telling me that you’re paying for the privilege of helping the police find missing kids?”

“Paying with Dad’s money… but yeah.” That smile turned toothy, the light of quiet rebellion making Lucifer’s eyes dance. 

Dean had a sudden, odd desire to put his arms around the other man, and kiss his dumb face, and tell him just how bad he was at being a bad guy. A desire which he firmly pushed down as he swept an arm towards the door and said, “Well, let’s get to it, you weirdo. The sooner you do your little spell the sooner we can get back to taking some obviously needed time off.”

“ _ We _ need time off?” Lucifer laughed and moved past Dean. “You’ve spent the last few days sleeping in and riding horses and goofing off with your brother.”

“And it was exhausting,” Dean assured, grinning, following the other man towards the stairs and the workroom on the floor below.

**_________________________________________**

Three hours, and two stops out of the way, found the two men settling into a back table at the BlackRabbit, which was surprisingly packed considering it wasn’t even dark out yet. Dean’s ass had barely hit the seat before a golden eyed waitress was swinging by the table and setting down a takeout box of food.

“Thanks?” Dean said with a confused smile, nodding to the woman who smiled back and added two beers to her offering. Dean looked over at Lucifer as asked, “When did they start serving food?”

“They don’t,” Lucifer pushed the box in front of Dean. “I’ve just got a sweetheart at the police station who always sends me some takeout here as a thank you, which is why we’re here instead of back at the apartment.”

“Ohh,” Dean chuckled, opening the box to see what looked and smelled like pad thai from Lucifer’s favorite restaurant. “And they’ve got your number for sure,” he teased gently, inwardly tickled by the gentleness of the exchange that this odd man had with the local law enforcement. 

“What can I say? My loyalties are easy to buy, as long as the food is good.” Lucifer chuckled, lifting his beer and squinting at the cap before giving it a tentative twist, and then a frown. 

Dean stole the man’s drink and used the edge of the table to pop the top off. “Still not a twist top, boss.”

Lucifer took back his drink, a slight smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I know... but I also know if I look helpless enough then you’ll just open it for me.”

Dean couldn’t even be mad, but he could pretend he was, lightly kicking the other man under the table. “Jerk.”

“I prefer ‘strategic’.”

“Lazy,” Dean offered.

“Smart,” Lucifer corrected, smiling as he took a long drink, watching Dean over the rim of the bottle. 

Shaking his head and turning to the food, Dean did his best to hide his own smile, still determined to keep up appearances and act at least slightly offended. “Be honest, you only let me hang around to open bottles and doors for you… don’t you?”

“Well, clearly, but it’s… it’s a little more than that.”

Dean glanced up from his efforts to unwrap the set of plastic utensils, caught off guard by the unexpected gentleness in the other man’s tone. 

“You also keep me warm at night,” Lucifer explained, his smile still tucked safely behind his drink.

“Jerk,” he laughed, “you keep going like that and I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,  _ babe _ .” With one more well aimed kick, Dean tried to test just how far he could take this one sided game of footsie before Lucifer started complaining about Dean getting his pant leg dirty. 

Lucifer leaned his elbows on the table, angling his body towards Dean enough to return one of those sharp kicks to the shins, the gently amused expression on his face never wavering. “You need to work on your threats… darlin’.”

“Darlin’?”

“In honor of your southern heritage,” Lucifer explained with the smallest wink. “This god awful twang really starts to come out when you’ve been drinking―in case you were wondering.”

Dean made a face, not really surprised, but definitely disappointed. He poked at the food, but didn’t take a bite, suddenly realising that there had only been one set of utensils. 

Sighing, he pushed away from the table, though he didn’t get much farther than that.

“Where are you going?” Lucifer asked sharp enough that it came off as a demand.

Dean could hear the worried undertone though, and couldn’t be irritated. “They only gave us one fork,” he started to explain. “I was gonna pop in back and ask―”

“Sit down,” Lucifer cut him off, grabbing his sleeve and pulling on him. “We’ll share.”

Dean frowned, but let himself be tugged back to his place beside the other man. “Germs though,” he managed to say lamely. 

Lucifer hitched one eyebrow at the weak argument. “We may have been drunk at the time, but I’ve had my tongue down your throat, so it’s a little late to start worrying about germs.” 

Thankfully the loudness of the club ensured that Lucifer’s very valid point didn’t travel beyond their little corner, but even knowing that couldn’t keep heat from creeping up Dean’s neck. 

“Well, uh, as long as it doesn’t bother you I guess.” He settled back into his seat and took a few good stabs at the food in an effort to push aside his momentary embarrassment. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Part of him hated how Lucifer could so easily throw out a statement, casual as he pleased, and a few misplaced words could make Dean feel like an awkward teenager again―but another part of him loved how he could just as easily make the other man squirm with only an off handed comment or two. 

It was a damn shame that they both had good reasons for keeping things professional.

If Dean wasn’t trying to put the man’s dad in prison for life, and if Dean wasn’t on the family’s payroll, maybe things could have gone a little differently. 

Still, as Lucifer dragged his own chair close enough that their knees brushed beneath the table (significantly closer than necessary to properly take turns using their only fork), Dean couldn’t be all that disappointed. There were so many worse things that could have happened to him after Michael ‘borrowed’ him from Benny.

“So,” Dean started, handing over the fork so the other man could eat some of his well earned reward. “Tell me about this sweetheart you’ve got at the police station who sent this nice little meal your way. Is he cute?”

“Well,  _ she _ is adorable, and has been working as a dispatcher for the last thirty-five years,” Lucifer said, stirring the food lazily before actually taking a bite. “Her name is Agness, and if I wasn’t worried that one of you would embarrass me by saying something nice about me, I’d introduce you two.”

“God knows you can’t have me gettin’ the wrong impression about you,” Dean chuckled, pulling his beer close and leaning back in his chair. “I might start thinking you’re a bit of a softy who wants to own a cat and have an herb garden or some shit. Next thing I know, you’ll be askin’ me to stay up with you watchin’ rain storms or something. People’ll start talking.”

Dean was teasing of course. He liked teasing Lucifer. It was easy, and usually the results were fairly entertaining. 

But when he looked up from his beer, Dean didn’t get to see the other man’s usual irritated scowl of disapproval, or even any touches of embarrassment. No. Lucifer was smiling softly, a distant dreamy sort of look in his eyes. 

And Dean had to duck his head and look at something else. The unexpected, warm, flutter feeling in his guts was the same he’d had nights before, after they’d shared a bath, when he’d found himself curled protectively around the other man. It was a feeling that Dean really actually hated. Not that it was typically the end of the world to get a crush on someone, if it was a normal someone, under normal circumstances. 

This was neither of those things, and having  _ feelings _ where Lucifer was concerned was so much worse than just wanting to go down on the guy. 

So much more complicated.

So much more fucking stupid of him.

Inwardly, that revelation started a panicked chant of ‘ _ oh no, oh no, oh no’ _ , but on the outside Dean was all smiles―at least he was determined to try.

“So, since you’ve picked to start your night off with a trip to a club, can I just go ahead and guess that you’re dragging me somewhere even louder and worse next? Can I suggest a monster truck rally or a mosh pit?”

Lucifer blinked slowly, his eyes coming back into focus. “No…? No,” he frowned, giving Dean an exasperated look, “those both sound like punishments.”

Dean needed a distraction from his feelings. “Then what do you wanna do tonight, boss? I’m all yours.”

It was an innocent enough set of words, but it seemed to rub Lucifer the wrong way. Without any explanation, the man tossed their fork into the mostly untouched dinner and pushed himself away from the table. 

Uncertain, Dean got up too, only to get pushed by the shoulder back down into his seat. 

Lucifer took two steps back, saying, “I’m going to talk to Michael,” just barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Ok?” Dean frowned. “ _ We _ can go talk to your brother if he’s here.”

There was already too much interference in the room, fifty some odd people talking, the music, the dim lighting. From where he sat on the edge of his seat, Dean couldn’t even hear Lucifer’s parting words as the man backed away, but he could read his lips. 

_ ‘You.Stay.’ _ Lucifer mouthed, pointed very deliberately at the table now between them.

Though Dean hadn’t hesitated to leave Lucifer sleeping alone back in the Williams’ home, watching the tall man weaving his way off into a crowd to disappear through a distant door, made every muscle in Dean’s body ache with how hard he had to hold himself in place. 

It really was a wonder how he’d ever got a job like this in the first place, considering how much he hated following orders. 

But there probably wasn’t a safer place for Lucifer to be than with Michael, added to the fact that as far as Dean knew, no one was actively trying to kill Lucifer. So, the man was probably perfectly safe. It was just the principle. Dean didn’t like getting left behind. 

He would never be good at waiting around or being left out.

Trying his best not to pay attention to time passing him by, Dean retaliated against his abandonment by finishing off the rest of the Thai food, and then when Lucifer still hadn’t returned, Dean drained the remainder of the other man’s beer for good measure. 

And he waited. 

And he waited. 

And he turned down two separate invitations, from two different but equally attractive women, to join them for a drinks―because as much as it would satisfy Dean’s desire to be spiteful at being ditched like an ugly prom date, he knew that Lucifer wouldn’t take kindly to Dean being poached in his absence. 

So, Dean waited alone.

Eventually abandoning the table to wait at the back door that Lucifer had ducked out through, Dean not even giving a sliver of a damn at the odd looks he earned from the staff.

What felt like an eternity passed, though realistically it couldn’t have been longer than half an hour, before the door at Dean’s back swung open and almost sent him tumbling to the floor. 

Frustrated, and with an already well practiced lecture ready on the tip of his tongue, Dean turned around, only to find himself nose to nose with the wrong Williams brother. 

“Michael,” Dean said in an uneasy greeting. 

“You’re still here?” Was Michael’s confusing greeting, as he eyed Dean with an odd frown.

“Yeah, Still waiting for Lu. Are you two done gabbing?”

Michael took what felt like far too long to think over his answer before finally stepping back into the long hallway and calling over his shoulder, “Hurry up.”

Dean muttered the man’s words back, under his breath, as he followed. Still rather irritated at being left waiting, Dean did his best to wrestle himself back to a neutral expression. Michael wasn’t the sort of person to get snippy with. It wouldn’t end well for Dean if he tried. So, he bit his tongue and trailed after the man until they rounded a corner and Michael suddenly came to a sharp stop. 

“I’m letting you go,” Michael said flatly, no sympathy, or apology, or hint of an explanation. 

Dean heard the words, but couldn’t instantly process them, mentaly fumbling around like a man who’d lost his keys. Finally pulling himself together enough to get out a simple, “What?”

“Your services are no longer needed. I’m returning you to Benny Lafitte and extending my thanks to him for lending our family a hand.” Michael said the words so easily, like he was used to firing people every day. “I’ll have your pay brought to his house later this evening.”

“ _ What _ ?” Dean didn’t care that he was repeating himself, it was the only thing he seemed to be able to squeak past the sucker punched feeling he was struggling against. 

“My brother is no longer in danger,” Michael spoke a little slower, “so our family no longer needs to keep you on retainer. You’re being returned to your home.”

Dean didn’t have a home. 

He had a duffle bag of clothes, and  _ thought _ he’d earned himself at least half the bed.

“My car is out front. My driver will take you to Lafitte’s, unless you’d rather take a cab,” Michael offered like it was a severance package. 

_ Thanks for all the hard work, and for taking a bullet for my dumb ass brother, and for keeping him alive, and safe, and warm at night. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out _ .

It took two tries, but Dean managed to clear his throat and say in a surprisingly even tone, “My things are all still at Lucifer’s place.”

“Of course they are,” Michael sighed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “I’ll have them picked up and brought to you with your payment later.”

“I-I need to talk to Lucifer about this,” Dean argued, feeling himself losing his grip on that forced calm exterior. 

Michael let out a small sigh. “I was under the impression that you and him already had this conversation.”

Dean slowly shook his head, his stomach starting to ache from the caustic mix of emotions that he was forcibly cramming down to deal with later. 

“Naturally,” Michael sighed again, reaching up to pinch the bride of his nose. “He always leaves his problems for other people to clean up.”

Dean breathed. He could still do that. Everything else seemed to demand too much from him right then. 

“My car is out front, or take a cab,” Michael shook his head, “I have other things to deal with tonight aside from my brother’s sordid love life,” and then the man walked around Dean and left.

Michael simply left. 

He walked out of the hall and back into the noise of the club.

Leaving Dean standing there with a stomach full of bees and a gaping hole in his chest.

  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter updates two days in a row? what is this?  
> I mean, yeah, for 2 different stories, but hey... you get more of this mess. huzzah?
> 
> Now, got to say, this chapter has a very sad boy in it, but I was also laughing while writing most of it, so hopefully it can be a funny and slightly light-hearted sad chapter? Is that a thing? Can we make it a thing?  
> hopefully <3

“Not that I don’t appreciate the top shelf work,” Crowley drawled, slowly rolling a mason jar towards the edge of the table and back, “but you’re supposed to let me know if you’re going to miss a deadline.”

Lucifer hardly glanced up from the set of rosary beads he was worrying through his hands. “I’m going to miss the deadline.”

“You already have missed them. All of them,” the man said with obvious irritation. “I need time to rework the contracts with the clients.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Crowley, as spiteful as a cat, let the jar roll off the edge of the table and shatter on the hardwood floor.

Lucifer finally looked up, giving the little man (and the now broken glass on the floor) his full attention. 

“There’s that pretty face of yours,” Crowley said almost triumphantly, but the man’s snake-like smile faded to one of mock concern. “Lucifer! What have you done to yourself?”

Lucifer blinked in confusion, still rolling the beads of the rosary between his fingers and he tried to push the spell to the back of his mind.

“You look…” Crowley paused for what was clearly meant to be dramatic effect, “ _ good _ for once.”

“You’re not my type,” Lucifer said dryly, brushing off the other man’s sarcasm.

Crowley chuckled in that gravely way of his. “And don’t think I don’t count my lucky stars each night for that.”

“I’ll have the work done by tonight.” But only if the damn jerk let Lucifer get back to what he was doing sometime soon. 

“What happened to you?”

Lucifer frowned. The joke was getting very tired very fast. 

“Your family makes up a large part of my income, darling. I’m concerned about my investment.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’m only a little behind,” Lucifer bit off the words, hardly able to keep his voice even.

“And you usually look more than half dead by this point,” Crowley pointed out knowingly. Leaning in close and narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Did you actually take the time to shave today?”

“I ate breakfast too,” Lucifer squared his shoulders against the man who was invading his space. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Lucifer?”

“Look, I’ve got plans tonight, so if you don’t mind being a snarky bastard on the other side of the room for a little while? I’d like to get this last spell finished.”

“Plans?” For someone who was making a big deal about missed deadlines, Crowley sure was ready and willing to get sidetracked. “Now I know something’s wrong. You haven’t had plans since you were a teenager.”

“Yeah well, I haven’t been in love since I was a teenager,” the irritated little thought coming out under his breath as he tried his damndest to turn back to his work. “I’m allowed to make plans,” he announced loudly.

No argument came, and slowly, slowly, Lucifer glanced back at the other man.

Crowley’s face had gone red with barely contained laughter. 

“You can wait in the hall,” Lucifer suggested.

“ _ Love _ ,” the fey chuckled, “well, that would explain all of ...  _ this _ ,” he motioned towards Lucifer with a distasteful curl of his lip. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. You got my sympathies, darling.”

It wasn’t actually that bad. 

Aside from making a week-long job drag on for ten irritatingly long days, Lucifer found he didn’t actually mind the uninvited feelings as much as he had in his youth. 

There was something almost comforting in the way that he couldn’t keep himself from thinking about Dean… all the time, every day, all day, and always with a warm fluttering feeling in his chest. 

Almost every evening when Lucifer would find himself digging around for a candle to light his darkening workroom, and he’d feel Dean tugging at him, announcing  _ ‘the sun says it’s time to call it quits’ _ . Which meant that Lucifer had to push his books and papers aside and head back upstairs.

Each morning he’d roll out of his too big bed and sluggishly make himself breakfast so that Dean wouldn’t lecture him. ‘ _ I’m protecting you from the dangers of low blood sugar, Luci. You’ve got to eat something. No. Coffee isn’t a meal, you ass.’ _ Lucifer could hear the other man’s voice so very clearly in his ears. He could feel the weight of Dean’s warm hands pawing at him and dragging him to the table for food.  __

The fact that Dean was gone didn’t seem to be able to stop Lucifer from turning to the Dean-sized empty space beside him twenty times a day to answer those snide, imagined comments, or to reach out and touch one of those rough hands that was always reaching for him.

It was a comfortable feeling, but also a terrible one, because there was no one there when Lucifer reached out.

It was so much worse than having an itch that he couldn’t reach.

It was a terrible ache. 

It was an open wound he’d given himself.

It was starving to death when he knew damn well exactly where he could find himself a good meal. 

But he had to finish his work first. 

As much as Lucifer  _ needed _ to go to Dean, and wrap himself around the other man, and kiss him stupid―there was a pile of paperwork that needed to be taken care of first. 

Dean was the sort of man who deserved all of Lucifer’s undivided attention. 

Lucifer knew that, and he had every intention to ask Dean out on a proper date, and to give the man every chance in the world to decide if he even wanted to be around Lucifer under his own terms.

Just as soon as he was finished with his work. 

So, as much as he wanted to rush everything and race to Benny’s, Lucifer took his time with the work and took care of himself―because it’s what Dean would have wanted him to do. 

Crowley’s little interruption dragged that last spell out to nearly midnight, which was later than Lucifer wanted to leave home and possibly got in the way of his plans to invite Dean out for a dinner date. Still, he tried to be optimistic. 

An unfamiliar feeling, but he clung to it all the same.

Dean would meet him at the door to Benny’s, and Lucifer would apologise for running out on him, and ask if Dean would be willing to join him for drinks so they could talk about how things were different now.

At least that was the perfect little fantasy that Lucifer had played over and over again while lying in bed, hugging the other man’s pillow and breathing in his too quickly fading scent. 

God, Dean smelled good.

Despite the late hour, the Lafitte home was wide awake with lights on in most windows, and the door was opened while Lucifer was still mid-knocking. A familiar face and three piece suit greeted him―though much like his brother, Lucifer didn’t have a good memory for names. So, he tipped his head and entered the house when he was invited. 

There were a few of Benny’s people in the hall, all giving him odd glances like they didn’t know what to do with him. 

“Is Dean around?” Lucifer asked as confidently as he could, trying to look and sound like he belonged there in their house, despite the odd welcome. 

A woman with a heavy braid over one shoulder, and very dark lipstick laughed and elbowed the man who had opened the door. “You owe me twenty bucks, Kevin. I told you someone would come looking for Dean by the end of the week.”

‘Kevin’ frowned and shrugged her off, nodding to Lucifer. “Boss is going to want to talk to you. Come on.” He stalked off into the house, clearly irritated, and clearly expecting Lucifer to simply follow him. 

It was always a little disorienting to be away from his home turf, and though he’d never admit it, Lucifer actually enjoyed being treated like a no one sometimes. There was something oddly freeing about not being anyone’s brother, or son, or anything else. He was just some stranger visiting the house at one in the morning, dressed in a nice suit.

Lucifer half expected to be led to a room and asked to wait, but clearly news of a visitor traveled quickly, because before they managed to get all that far a set of double doors swung open and a familiar bear of a man was descending on them and wrapping Lucifer in a tight embrace. 

“ _ Chere _ ,” Benny laughed warmly, kissing both Lucifer’s cheeks, “look at you. You look more and more like your mama every time I see you.”

The low nervous energy buzzing inside Lucifer faded with a chuckle and he kissed the vampire’s cheeks in greeting. “And every time you tell me that I can’t figure out if I should say ‘thank you’ or if I should be offended.” 

Benny didn’t offer any help on that matter as he held Lucifer out at arm’s length, smiling toothily at him for a moment before glancing over at Kevin. “He’s not human. Go let everyone know to stow their phones and turn off the televisions before something catches fire.”

“I’m not doing any magic while I’m here, Benny,” Lucifer promised gently after he watched Kevin go running in a near panic back the way they’d come from. “I just came by to talk to Dean.”

Benny pulled an arm around his shoulders. “Come on,  _ chere _ . Let’s get you a drink.”

Lucifer wasn’t dumb. At least not overtly so. He could read between lines. He could hear Benny pointedly dancing around the subject. And those nerves came right back. With a pit forming in his stomach, he let himself be led to a very comfortable, modern kitchen, and ushered into a high bar stool tucked up against the center island. 

“Benny,” Lucifer said, trying to shift his weight in a way that didn’t feel like he was about to fall sideways off his seat, not at all enjoying the way his shoes didn’t quite reach the floor. “What did Dean say?”

“He didn’t say anything,  _ chere _ .” Benny said, pulling down a single glass and hesitating for a moment before setting it on the counter. “Do you still drink red wine?”

“ _ Benny _ ,” he pleaded.

That welcoming smile slipped out of place for a moment, and Benny’s eyes tightened to something that looked very nearly sympathetic. He pulled a folded piece of paper from a pocket and tossed it at Lucifer before going to a well stocked wine rack and purposefully browsing for the perfect vintage to serve his uninvited guest. 

The letter had Benny’s name written out on the back in a heavy hand. Clearly, it wasn’t meant for Lucifer, but he unfolded it all the same, not sure what he was expecting.

_ Hey man _

_ Finished up things with the Williams. Don’t know what your going to hear but things got mutually messy between Lucifer and me  _ _ and you can’t blame me the dude had an ass like a greek statue _

_ Either him or his brother cut me loose and its probably a good thing. _

_ A new job came up that I couldn’t turn down.  _

_ Not sure I’ll be coming back from this one.  _

_ Hate to call in that favor you owe me but I’ve got this kid brother whos shacked up with little Gabe Williams. If things go sideways for me get him out. He’s a stubborn kid and a real smooth talker. He wont go easy. Keep him safe. _

_ -Dean _

“What is this?” Lucifer asked softly after he’d read the letter over three times. 

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” Benny said with a sigh, finally coming over and pouring that drink he’d promised. “About two weeks ago one of your people dropped off some bags for Dean but no Dean. Then my daytime guys tell me Dean showed up a few hours later, grabbed his stuff and left that letter.”

“What job is he talking about?”

“You know as much as me,” Benny rested his elbows on the counter and scrunched his nose in thought, “actually you know more than me. What exactly happened between you two boys?”

Lucifer struggled with something like a smile, re-reading the part of the letter about his ass, and feeling utterly lost.

“He’s a good man,” Benny said, lightly tapping the edge of the letter, “better than most. Never could really get my head around how he ended up in the business.”

“He’s stubborn and bossy and bad at following orders,” Lucifer argued gently, feeling the weight settling around him in the realisation that Dean was gone. 

Really actually gone.

“Which one of you fired him?” Benny pressed, not ready to let Lucifer simply settle into overwhelming self-pity.

“Mike,” Lucifer answered a little too quickly, then winced and corrected himself. “I did. I had Mike let him go. He was supposed to come back here and wait for me.”

Benny hiked his eyebrows in a doubtful expression. 

“I finished up some work and I… I came here to ask him…” Lucifer’s breath suddenly caught in his throat and he had to swallow hard before he could softly finish, “but he’s gone.”

“I’ll let you know first if I hear anything,  _ chere _ ,” Benny promised, “though it doesn’t sound to me like he’s planning to come back.”

“Don’t say that.”

Benny cocked his head, blinking in surprise at the heat behind Lucifer’s words. 

“I mean,” he struggled to cover for himself, but quickly gave up. Benny knew him. Benny had known Lucifer his whole godforsaken life, and as such Lucifer really didn’t have any dignity to salvage with this man. His hands shaking only a touch, Lucifer tossed aside the letter and pulled in the glass of wine. “Fuck everything.”

Benny, never the most talkative man, only let out an exasperated, breathy laugh.

Lucifer emptied his glass in two noisy gulps, before announcing, “This is exactly why I didn’t want a bodyguard in the first place. I knew I’d… I’d get too attached.”

“Attached?” The other man chuckled and turned the letter around so it would be right side up for him. “Is that what you kids mean by ‘mutually messy’? Because I’ve been wondering about that.”

Lucifer put his face in his hands. “I don’t know what it means.” Which was true. Even though it was nice to have some confirmation that indeed, Dean had actually been checking out his ass all those times and it hadn’t just been Lucifer’s imagination―no part of that letter indicated anything more than basic physical attraction. 

Just like no part of the letter seemed to point to Dean coming back.

“I really messed this one up. Didn’t I?”

Benny didn’t have an answer to that one.

With an exasperated sound, Lucifer raked his hands up into his hair and let out a heartfelt, “Fuck!”

The kitchen light flickered fitfully before giving up with a depressing little  _ pop _ and plunging them into darkness. 

“Sorry,” Lucifer said sheepishly, peering out blindly from between his fingers.

A friendly hand came to rest on Lucifer’s shoulder. “You’re fine. I’ve got spare bulbs.”

The comforting words rolled off him like water, Lucifer’s mind already leaping to conclusions, desperately grasping for someone to blame other than himself. “No. This is Mike’s fault. He did something. He must have said something to Dean―why else would Dean suddenly take a new job?  _ How  _ else would he find a new job so damn quickly?”

“Lu,” Benny slid his hand to the back of Lucifer’s neck, the chill of his skin gently soothing, “you know I hold my tongue about your family…  _ ce sont tous des fils de bâtards _ ,” he muttered in French, and Lucifer knew just enough to know the vampire had called them all bastards. “But Mike? He’s like Cas. He’s loyal to you to the grave.”

“Yeah, but he’s got his own ideas of what's best for me. He always has. He must have done something. Dean wouldn’t just leave,” by which Lucifer meant ‘ _ Dean wouldn’t just leave me _ ’. 

Not that he had proof. 

But, he had hope.

Sighing, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, Lucifer looked up at the outline of Benny. “You’ll tell me if you hear anything from him. Right?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Benny admitted with a wry smile.

Lucifer didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or scream. 

Outside of the kitchen there came the loud pop and sizzle of a powersurge frying nearby electronics, followed by an awful lot of commotion and the sharp scent of burning plastic.

“ _ Chere _ , my home is not Lucifer-proof. I don’t mind a few small fires, but you keep this up we’re going to have a riot.”

One of the biggest reasons that Lucifer tended to stay home. People were far too protective of their cell phones and Lucifer had never been all that good at corralling his emotions. It had been months since he’d last had a chance to sit and talk with the man, but clearly a friendly chat would need to wait for a better night. 

“Sorry, Benny,” he sighed, hopping off the stool. “I should get going. You can send any repair bills my way.” 

“Nah, I’ll let it be a lesson to everyone about being faster to shut things off.”

Lucifer didn’t want to be an object lesson for so many unfortunate people, but he also had more important things to deal with right then―like finding Michael and demanding to know what happened with Dean, and why.

Bidding his farewell, with promises to have a proper visit sometime soon, Lucifer set off to his first unplanned stop of the night. 

The walk to the club was a long one, but considering his emotional state, a walk in the cold night air was infinitely safer than a cab ride. It should have been a chance for him to clear his head and try to shed some of that despair and disappointment, only that wasn’t the sort of man that Lucifer was. Time alone with his thoughts was only time for that pendulum inside of him to swing the other way so that when he finally reached The BlackRabbit, he was ready to throw fists. 

He pushed his way past the line of people waiting to get in, ignoring any and all protests, hardly giving a nod to the bouncer at the door. The club was packed, standing room only, which probably meant that the weekend had snuck up on Lucifer once again. He tended to lose track of time while working. 

Weaving through the crowd, Lucifer made a B-line for the back door and the offices in which his brother tended to lurk. The twisting halls and oddly placed rooms were laid out like a maze, the ways that some colleges were, to help deter rioting and to give ample places to hide. If Lucifer hadn’t spent a good chunk of his childhood playing hide-and-seek down there with his brothers then he’d never stand a chance at finding Michael. 

Admittedly, it still took him nearly three frustrating and furious minutes to fling open the correct door, seeing his brother’s dark eyes widen with a fraction of surprise as he glanced up from his laptop. The room lights hardly had a chance to flicker before Michael was slamming the computer closed and getting to his feet. 

“Not in here,” Mike barked, rounding his desk and pushing Lucifer back out the door. “I’m not here in the back for fun, Lu. I’m working on―”

Lucifer swung his brother into the wall, cutting off all that straight faced indignation as he dug his hands like claws into Michael’s shirt. “What did you say to Dean?” He demanded, the words hissing between his clenched teeth. 

“Nothing,” and even though Mike’s eyes were still too wide, his voice was flat and even. “I haven’t seen him.”

“You told him something the night I asked you to let him go,” Lucifer knew, he knew his brother too well to let it go that easily. “What did you say to him?”

“How about you tell me what you  _ think _ I told him, and we’ll move from there.”

“You bastard. Don’t you try to pull that with me. Where is he? Where the hell did you send him off to?”

“Send him?” Mike fit his hands around Lu’s wrists, tight enough to bruise. “I sent him back to Benny’s like you wanted. What happened?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. He’s not at Benny’s, and Benny hasn’t seen him.”

Mike, calm as ever, simply blinked and relaxed into the threatening throttle between Lucifer and the wall, and asked, “You lost your boyfriend and this is somehow my fault?”

“I didn’t  _ lose _ him. He took a job and vanished,” Lucifer winced as the words unexpectedly caught in his throat and brought back that wounded feeling he’d thought he’d outrun on his walk to the club. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Michael nodded slowly like he suddenly understood all the mysteries of the universe, and then in an almost gentle tone, he offered, “Do you need a drink?” 

"I don't need a drink, I need Dean!"

Mike raised an eyebrow, letting out a startled breath. 

Working slowly past the lump in his throat, Lucifer loosened his hold on his brother and said, "I don't care what you said to him, or why. Just tell me where you sent him."

"I sent him home like you asked me to. That's all." One of Mike's hands came up, cupping the back of Lucifer's neck. "Do you want a drink?"

"Why is that everyone's solution? No, I don't want a drink."

"Then do you at least want to let me go? You're wrinkling my shirt."

Exasperated, Lucifer dropped his hands and took a step back. "Where―"

"If you ask me again where he is... I'm going to punch you in the throat."

"He left a note at Benny's, asking him to take care of Sam because he wouldn't be back."

"Well,  _ that _ feels like an over-reaction to you telling him how you feel," Michael said dryly, smoothing his hands over his shirt. "You probably dodged a bullet there… metaphorically speaking."

All of Lucifer's anger was seeping through the cracks, leaving him feeling cold and tired. "I was going to tell him tonight."

Michael fixed him with a crippling look of disappointment. "You had me fire him two weeks ago, Lu. Two weeks. I’m no expert on these things, but maybe that would have been the time to tell him how you feel."

"It was only ten days."

"That's… irrationally stupid. Even for you."

"Not if I was assuming that you had explained to him why I couldn't have him as my bodyguard any more."

Mike pressed a hand over his eyes and held his breath like he was counting. "I… I have no words for you sometimes, Lu."

“You were supposed to tell him.”

“I dare you to bring up any part of our previous conversation that would have indicated to me that I was supposed to confess your feelings to him in your place,” Mike laid it out like a challenge. 

“I… well,” Lucifer hated how easily his brother had turned this back around, and he felt himself fumbling for any kind of firm footing. “I mean… how long have you known me and you still thought that I didn’t need your help with this?” 

Michael looked unimpressed.

“Clearly this is on you.”

“Do you want me to find you a new bodyguard?” Mike offered. “It will be hard finding anyone else as dumb as Dean, who would be willing to take the job, but I can―”

“I don’t want a new bodyguard. I don’t want  _ any _ bodyguard. I want Dean.”

Sighing softly, Mike reached out and smoothed a hand down Lu’s tie. “Again, not an expert here, brother, but I don’t think I’m the person who needed to hear you say those words.”

That lump in this throat returned, choking Lucifer, and all he could do was slap his brother’s hands away and take a step back. Mike was right. The bastard was right, and Lucifer was too late.

Michael sighed again, clearly struggling with this situation just as much as Lucifer, but for very different reasons. “I’m officially out of things to offer you.”

Swallowing down that raw, gutted feeling, Lucifer shook his head. “I… I think I’ll take you up on that drink.”

Relief cut Michael’s strings, and the man visibly sagged, relaxing. He held one arm wide, gently ushering Lucifer in the direction of the exit. “Thank god you know exactly where we keep the liquor.” 

It was a dismissal. 

Mike wasn’t going with him to drink and feel sad. Mike was kicking him out so he could get back to work. Apparently the problem was solved. Crisis averted. They could go back to their lives. 

Or at least Mike could. Lucifer wasn’t as emotionally disconnected as his brother, and the things that he was feeling couldn’t be packed up and written off nearly as easily.

A drink wasn’t what Lucifer really needed.

What he needed was a different brother, one willing to actually help him and not just offer a brand new bodyguard, or at very least a brother capable of offering at least a sliver of sympathy. 

He pushed his way back out of the club and on to the city street. The sheer amount of people out on the town indicated that indeed, it was the weekend. Traffic was at a near standstill, and loud, happy twenty year olds moved in flocks like birds. Even if Lucifer had been willing to trust himself in a cab, he would have had a hard time finding an empty one. 

Which meant a second long walk through the cold night air, for the second unplanned stop of his night. 

Surprisingly, the bouncers at Crossroads refused to let him cut in line, and though being a nobody back at Benny’s had been somewhat liberating, Lucifer had absolutely zero hesitation in throwing around names to get what he wanted. 

“I’m not here for the girls,” he argued with the wall of a man who’d already told him no twice. “I’m here to talk to Castiel.”

“And I already told you, buddy, get lost.”

Lucifer squared his shoulders in challenge. “I don’t wait in lines.”

“And you ain’t coming in here.”

“Go tell Castiel that his brother wants to see him,” Lucifer pointed past the bouncer and into the club. 

The bouncer looked unimpressed and took a small step to the side to let a small group of yuppy day traders into the club.

Lucifer took it as a personal insult. “Listen to me, you overgrown gorilla, I am going to go inside to talk to my brother.”

“And you listen, you prick. You’re on the no-go list, so get lost. I’m not telling you again.”

If there was a list, it wouldn’t surprise Lucifer one bit if he was on it, seeing as a few years prior, he and Cas burned down half the building, and most recently he’d be the cause of a mess of blood all over the floor. However, he wasn’t the kind of man who gave a god damn about lists. 

With a few whispered words and a wave of his hand the brute of a man froze mid snarl and the neon sign over the door burst in a shower of sparks and glass. 

It was far more dramatic than necessary, but that suited Lucifer’s mood just fine. 

He walked around the frozen bouncer and the very concerned people still waiting in line, and entered the upscale strip joint. It was loud and bright and colorful past the dark, heavy doors―and most importantly it was warm. The incredibly long walk across town in the middle of the night had not given Lucifer time to come to terms with how gravely he’d fucked this up, but it had given him ample time to nearly freeze himself to death. 

Nodding to the startled looking girl at the front counter, he said, “Tell Castiel his brother’s here to talk to him,” and doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t shivering, he went and found himself a seat. 

He was aware what he was doing could possibly be very hazardous to his health. Smart people probably didn’t bully their way into The Boogeyman's home, just to talk to their little brother about  _ feelings _ . But, Lucifer was cold and tired from his walk, exhausted from the unexpected emotional barrage he’d put himself through, and mostly just sad that he didn’t have a warm Dean to pull around himself to ward off the shivers and the aching in his bones.

Finally off his feet, with the riotous sounds of the club pulsing like a heartbeat, the music and people talking all loud enough to drown out the labored sounds of his own breaths, Lucifer found himself choking on that sadness. 

It wasn’t all about losing Dean.

If it was, then the solution would simply be giving himself time to lick his wounds. 

No. It was so many other things that were all catching up with him in a landslide, doubts and fears swarming like sharks that caught the scent of blood. Months ago he’d started making plans to leave his family, and the one person he’d been brave enough to confide in had shot him in the stomach rather than let him leave. Lucifer had trusted Marcus with his life, and shortly after he’d found himself beating the man to death with his bare hands. His own father had threatened to kill him if he didn’t keep his head down and his mouth shut. He was little more than a commodity to his family, an expendable one at that. 

Lucifer had spent the last few months backing himself into a corner, and then like the self destructive jackass that he was, he’d chased away the one person who’d made him feel even remotely safe. Dean had been hope, a glimmer of light while Lucifer was in a very dark place, and he’d gone and sent the man away. 

He’d given himself good reasons for it all. He always gave himself perfectly sound reasons for his own stupid actions. He’d wanted to give Dean ‘space’ to sort out his own feelings… if there were any feelings at all, beyond the basic sense of duty and protectiveness that Dean had been paid to have for Lucifer. But, really it had been because the idea of trusting anyone had been so horrifying that it was easier to go back to being alone.

The same alone that he’d been for years since Castiel had gone AWOL.

Lucifer could lie to himself all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d tucked his tail and ran to the last safe place he’d had since Dean.

Very suddenly his eyes started to sting. Lucifer took a shaking breath and put his face in his hands. Fuck, but he needed to get ahold of himself. Only the most pitiful of pitiful men cried in stripclubs. 

Before too long he began to realise that beyond the safe hiding place he’d found behind his hands, he was no longer alone in the little corner booth he’d found for himself. Clearing his throat, Lucifer straightened and dropped his hands to his lap. Though he’d hoped to see his little brother beside him, the pretty little thing sitting there with a smile and a martini was most definitely not Cassy. 

The woman in the curve hugging teal and copper dress batted her devastatingly long lashes and slid the drink his way. “Here, honey. On the house.”

He knew he’d forced his way into the club, and wasn’t nearly dumb enough to drink anything that was ‘on the house’ until he found out just how much trouble he was going to be in. “Thank you,” he told her all the same, struggling to cling to the vaguely normal feeling of politeness. 

She grinned, a flash of teeth from behind her perfect lipstick. “Oh, a gentleman. Lucky me, I get to keep you company until the boss gets here.”

Lucifer had no idea if ‘the boss’ meant Papa Midnight or Castiel, but he’d already caused too much of a scene to back out now. “You don’t have to keep me company. I promise I’ll behave myself while I wait.”

“Well behaved men are so overrated,” she cooed, reaching out to run a manicured nail across the base of his glass, “don’t you think so, honey?”

“I know you’re just doing your job, but I’m gay so…” he wanted to help her out―to help them both out, because if she was only going to make this awkward for them both if she kept going like she was. 

Surprisingly, she only giggled, but it was an odd giggle, lower than one would expect to hear from a woman with such a velvety soft voice. 

Lucifer looked at her,  _ really _ looked at her, then looked up at the stage for the first time since coming in. The women up there had a lot more makeup, and a lot more clothes, than he expected you’d usually see in a strip club. They were also singing, not stripping. 

He looked back at the woman beside him, at her contoured cheekbones, and perfect makeup, and the low cut neckline of her dress that showed a lovely amount of skin but a surprisingly lack of breast, and then back up to the telltale line of an Adam's apple.

“Oh!” Lucifer couldn’t help the note of honest surprise that had snuck in. “You’re a… I’m sorry. I, uh, well, hum...I’m sorry? I didn’t realise you were a, um...”

The drag queen beside him waved off the stuttered half apology. “Don’t. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

Lucifer had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say to such a pretty man in a dress, other than, “Well, um...the color of that dress looks amazing with your skin tone, and your nails are very… sparkly.”

Which earned him another one of those soft chuckles. “See, now I thought I’d drawn the short straw when they sent me over here, but you’re adorable. Is this your first time at the club on Drag Night?”

“Yes,” he said, pained that his awkwardness was that obvious. Lucifer prided himself on being impeccably put together and very in control of himself whenever he was in public. Tonight, he was clearly off his game. 

“Oooh,” she scooted closer to him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, “so you’re a virgin then? I’d keep that to myself if I were you. The other girls have some pretty… exciting ways of initiating newbies.” 

“I appreciate the warning.” Lucifer had had a rough enough night without needing to worry about having his drag-show virginity wrecked. In the nicest way he could manage while his chest still felt gripped in a vice, he offered up, “I know I pushed my way in here, but I promise to behave myself until my brother shows up. You don’t have to stay and keep an eye on me.”

With a smooth movement, she stole his untouched drink and settled right into the booth with no indication of leaving. “I’ve been on my feet in six inch heels all night. If it’s all the same can I pretend I’m keeping an eye on you and we can just sit here quietly?”

Lucifer couldn’t hope for a better offer than that. With a relieved sigh and an appreciative nod, he did his best to unclench and to remember how to breathe. 

The stage show might have been enjoyable under other circumstances, but with the mess his mind was in, it was nothing more than noise. He felt himself slowly disconnecting, going numb as he shut off all the anxious and wounded parts of himself. 

And though that dissociative calm soothed all his frayed nerves, apparently the shift wasn’t visible to outside observers―or Lucifer’s brother could just read him that well even after all these years. 

Castiel descended on him like a storm front, unforgiving and unapologetic as he very suddenly appeared, pressing his hands flat against the table top as he leaned into Lucifer. “You’re not welcome here, Lucifer. You… you…” and those cold eyes of his softened, “you’re hurt.”

Lucifer locked his jaw, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the accusation while they were in a public space. 

Castiel had never really cared the same way about appearances though, and he gently cupped Lucifer’s cheeks and kissed his forehead. “You taste like your heart is breaking.”

“Please don’t do this out here,” Lucifer asked with his face still cradled in Castiel’s very warm hands. “Cas we go somewhere private to talk? Or can you at least sit down and pretend to be a normal person?”

“Perhaps you should have considered a more low key entrance if you are so worried about unwanted attention.”

“How long are you going to stand there like this?” Lucifer asked as calmly as he could, doing his best to ignore the soft laughter from the woman still sitting beside him.

“Until I find out who hurt you,” Cas said with the same grave severity in which he did everything. 

Lucifer folded his hands over his brother’s and gently pried them off his face. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“We don’t have to talk. You can just give me a name and I’ll go take care of them for you.”

After so long apart, and after such a rocky reunion a month back, the unexpected protectiveness was almost too much for Lucifer.

“Cassy,” he mouthed, “ _ please _ .”

Seemingly annoyed that Lucifer wasn’t more willing to just take the easy route of simply letting Cas kill someone, his younger brother nodded and stepped back, motioning that he wanted to be followed.

Lucifer rose, but couldn’t simply walk away. He turned back to the lovely young thing that had come to keep him company, and hesitantly said, “Thank you?” 

“Good luck, honey,” she said with a finger waggling wave goodbye and a little wink.

It was an odd night for Lucifer, and unplanned stop number three did very little to bring any sense of normalcy or rightness to his world.

One moment the two of them were beside a table, then Cas was grabbing Lucifer by the shoulder and then the ground was gone. Up and down were on vacation, and gravity ceased to be a thing. 

In less than a millisecond the world was back. Lucifer’s feet hit sand, and his knees thought that was such a great idea they had to go next. He heaved in some good old beautiful existing air and felt his body drink it in all up and tell him it was still in one piece.

“Fuck me sidways,” Lucifer gasped. “What the hell was―I’m gonna’ vomit.”

“Take deep breaths and focus on the horizon,” Castiel advised and he hooked his hands under his big brother’s arms and dragged him back to his feet, “it’s instrumental in the prevention of vomiting.”

Sunlight stung his eyes as Lucifer lifted his head and squinted out at where the sky met the sea.

The sea? 

They were standing on the beach, mid day, looking out at the clearest, bluest water that Lucifer had ever seen. 

“What did you do?” He heaved, struggling to gulp down the salt tinged air and the bitter bile in his throat. “Cas, what did you do?”

“I brought us somewhere we can talk.”

The protests died in his throat as Lucifer’s knees buckled and he found himself flat on his ass in the warm sand. It felt like his internal organs had been put back in upside down and inside out, and honestly it was beginning to seem that the fight against puking was going to be a losing one. 

Deep breaths though. 

In through his nose, out through his mouth.

Numbly, he asked, “Where are we?”

Because it sure as hell wasn’t New York, where they still had a solid six hours or so to wait until the sun would start creeping up and burning through the morning fog.

“Australia,” Cas said easily, toeing off his shoes to stand barefoot in the sand, looking perfectly at home, and perfectly insane. 

And it could have very well been Australia, Lucifer certainly had no point of reference.

Sitting there, getting sand in the cuffs of his pantlegs and his side pockets, Lucifer slowly felt his stomach un-clench, and his rabbiting heart settling down to only a mild panic. 

“How?” He asked finally, looking up at his brother who’d been standing silent by his side for the whole mini-crisis. 

“You know those voices?” Cas shifted his gaze from his mostly buried feet, over to Lucifer. “The ones that you say you don’t hear? I started listening to them a couple years ago. I’ve learned a lot since then.”

Gabriel called it angel radio, and took lithium and hard liquor to block it out. 

Most of the time Lucifer was able to ignore it on his own. 

The hundreds of voices, whispering in unknown languages, oddly enough wasn’t anything that Lucifer wanted part in. 

“Did you know that angels have wings? Cas asked before kicking sand in a high arch out in front of him. “I don’t think Dad wanted us to know, because it would have let us leave.”

“It’s been a while since I had a good look at my own back, but I’m going out on a limb and saying that I don’t remember any wings back there.”

“Not on our bodies… but on our souls,” Cas assured, sounding as crazy as ever. 

“Sure,” Lucifer wasn’t up for arguing right then. “I bet everyone at the club loved you pulling that spell too.”

“If I did it right, no one even noticed us leaving,” Castiel said with such confidence that Lucifer had no choice but to let it go. “Now, tell me who hurt you so I know who to turn inside out.”

Lucifer fumbled with a weak smile. “I’m the one who hurt me, so please… hold off on the evisceration.” 

“Can we go get a coffee before we get into this? Because you’re supposed to be the smart one, and my head is already hurting.” 

Lucifer was supposed to be the smart one?

Oh, but they were in trouble if that was true.

“Does this pity party have anything to do with your conspicuously missing bodyguard?” Castiel asked bluntly, reaching out and pulling Lucifer to his feet. “Did he die? Because that would be a waste.”

Lucifer cringed at the amount of sand that had snuck into his shoes, or maybe just at his brother’s directness. “What if he’s alive and well, and I just had him fired instead of telling him how I felt?”

“Probably still a waste, but I’d have to know how you felt before casting judgement.”

Most of Lucifer’s emotions were cards kept close to his chest, but this was Cas, and Cas was one of the few people who had access to the full, unabridged version of all of Lucifer’s most glorious fuck ups. 

A long hour later, with the day’s second cup of coffee in one hand, and his shoes dangling from the other, Lucifer felt marginally lighter, but no less of an idiot. 

“I still don’t understand why you’d leave a job like that to Michael,” Cas said slowly, scratching his head over the matter, “Did he have some sort of emotional re-birth since I left?”

“No, he’s still a stone cold bitch.”

Shaking his head, Castiel gave him a look that was one part disappointment, and two parts amusement. 

“If it had been you it would have been fine.  _ You _ would have understood that I needed help telling Dean…  _ things _ ,” Lucifer insisted. 

Cas snorted softly and shook his head. “I highly doubt that, but I also appreciate your faith in me.”

Lucifer turned his face towards the sky and the almost overwhelming warmth of the sun.

“As amusing as the soap opera of your life has become,” Castiel started slowly, “I know you didn’t come looking for me just to tell me how you’ve misplaced your lover.”

“Lover?” He shook his head, laughing in a way that didn’t even come close to happy. “You got further with him than I ever did.”

Through most of their childhood, Castiel’s smile had been rare, and you’d be lucky to see two in a month―but today he was handing them out like candy, his eyes crinkling on the edges as he grinned toothily up at Lucifer. “Is this some kind of new math you’re using? How exactly are you measuring this?”

“In exchange for you getting Papa Midnight’s help you asked for a shot at Dean,” Lucifer still hated that little arrangement, but he’d never asked for an update on the matter because what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Cas’ grin never wavered, and he watched Lucifer with open anticipation as he spoke. “And you told me that I could go exactly as far with him as he’d let me, which was nowhere.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he wasn’t interested in comforting, but empty lies.

“He wouldn't even let me kiss him, because I wasn’t you,” Castiel insisted, pausing a moment before adding, “his words, not mine.” 

“He  _ didn’t _ say that.”

Castiel only placed a hand over his heart, raising the other (along with his coffee), like he was swearing before a judge. 

“Do you think he actually liked me?”

“I think we’re both too old for you to be asking me questions like that, especially about a man I’ve only met twice.”

“I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours, Cassy, you’re going to have to cut me some slack.”

“And you’re going to have to tell me why you really came to the club, because I know you, and I know it wasn’t just for a sympathetic ear―because I’m not that person.”

“See, this is why I’ve missed you. Why can’t everyone just call me out when I’m bullshitting myself in too deep?”

“Because you scare most people.” Cas wasn’t teasing, he was just stating facts. “And you’re stalling. Don’t talk to me like Dad would. Just say what you want for once.”

Lucifer winced at the open handed insult, but it was part of Castiel’s charm. Directness wasn’t easy to come by in their family. 

“I want you to talk to your boss, see if he can’t find out where Dean went.”

“I believe that’s called stalking, and is frowned on by the state of New York.”

“Not… it’s not stalking,” Lucifer puffed out his chest, summoning up all kinds of offence at the accusation. “I just want to know who he took a job with, why he left that kind of letter with Benny, is he in danger―”

“That’s still considered stalking. I have enough restraining orders against me to be positive on this one.”

Lucifer wished that was a joke, but Castiel didn’t tell jokes, so it was just a weird problem for a different time. “Then don’t tell me where he is. Don’t tell me who he’s working for. Just tell me if he’s safe or not.”

“Make a black mirror and scry him out for yourself if it’s just the piece of mind you’re wanting. You don’t need to involve me for a little spell like that.”

Lucifer shook his head slowly. “He’s got spells on him. Ones I don’t know,” he thought of the odd tattoos and the charm bracelets that Dean wore that had never seemed important enough at the time to ask about. “I tried scrying him once, back when he first started working for me, just to see what he was doing out in the hall while I was in the work room, and there’s nothing.”

“You made him stand out in the hall?”

“He’s very distracting,” Lucifer said defensively. “You try working with a man like that sitting across from you. If he wasn’t knocking things over he was biting his lip, which made me want to bite his lip, and it was fucking impossible.”

“Those were the kinds of lips that could sink ships,” Castiel said with a wistful sigh.

“That’s not how that saying goes.”

“The only other thing that came to mind was ‘beautiful cock-sucking lips’, but I’m almost positive that’s not a saying at all.”

The words caught Lucifer so off guard that he nearly missed a step, and for a moment was fully convinced that his brother may have actually developed a proper sense of humor while they’d been apart. 

How odd that would be.

How unfair it was that Dean could be so very gone and yet still so incredibly distracting to Lucifer. 

He let himself mull over those lovely and true words, before shaking his head and trying to focus. “Your boss can find him though. Can’t he?”

“Papa Midnight?”

“Can’t he?”

“Call a private eye, Lu,” Castiel said with a shake of his head, “the cost will be more in your ballpark.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

Cas only shook his head again.

“And if it isn’t money he wants, then I can get that too.”

“No.”

“ _ No _ ?”

“No,” Casliet said flatly, pointedly.

“Look, I need help, Cas. I don’t know where you are on the Papa’s pecking order, but you’re not the end all be all. If you won’t ask him for me, I’ll go around you… no offence.”

“And I’m telling you  _ NO _ ... no offence. I’m not going to help you stalk your ex, it’s just sad.”

“I only want to know if he’s alright.” Lucifer swung his shoes around to knock them into his brother’s ribs like a kick. “Call it a wellness check, if it makes you feel better about it.”

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t retaliate other than to say, “Call it whatever you want, my answer is no.”

“Then I’ll talk to Papa Midnight myself.”

“You are, and he says no. Do you want a formal letter?”

“You don’t speak for him―”

“I  _ am _ him!” Frustration made Castiel’s cheeks dark and his declarations ridiculous. 

“I think you’ve let whatever power he gave you go right to your head.”

Castiel pivoted in the sand, sinking down an extra inch as he planted himself in front of Lucifer. Poking his chest with that paper coffee cup, Castiel spelled it out surprisingly clearly for any member of the Williams family. “ _ Midnight _ is a title, not a person. Not anymore. The original Papa Midnight died way back in the thirties. As far as I’ve been able to make, the man I took over for was possibly the tenth man to have the job. His name was Anthony and he retired to Florida two years ago.”

“Are you explaining to me part of the plot of  _ The Princess Bride _ ?”

“The  _ what _ ?”

Lucifer closed his eyes. He was too damn tired for this. “Are you… are you telling me that the man I had nightmares about as a kid, after we started that fire, that his name was... Anthony?”

“Could have been, or it could have been the Papa Midnight before him, I think his real name was Reggie.”

“I was afraid of a man named Reggie?”

Castiel threw up his hands, nearly flinging his coffee in the process. “That’s why the title is so important. No one is afraid of  _ Castiel _ .”

“You actively frighten me.” Lucifer took a rattling deep breath of the sea air, and deeply questioned how he ended up the ‘normal’ one out of his siblings. “So… you’re The Boogeyman?”

“For now,” Cas said nonchalantly, shrugging one shoulder, then the other. 

“And you’re not going to help me find Dean?”

“Do you remember the last time you hugged me?” Cas answered the question with one of his own, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I was sixteen and I was devastated because the girl I’d been in love with for months didn’t even know who I was, and had the nerve to go to her high school prom with her boyfriend instead of with me.”

Lucifer closed his eyes, feeling a pang of regret. As a touch starved individual it was almost criminal that he’d really let so much time pass between them. “Cassy, I―”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

Lucifer looked down at his brother, shaking his head. 

“You told me that even if it didn’t feel like it could, eventually it  _ would _ stop hurting, and I’d be alright.”

“This isn’t the same thing,” Lucifer started to argue, but the words were squeezed out of him as his younger brother caught him in a bruising hug.

“You’ll be alright,” Cas insisted, not letting up in the slightest, like he meant to crush every last doubt right out of Lucifer.

“I hate this.”

“I did too,” Castiel confessed, “but I think it works like medicine, you’re supposed to not like it.”

“Ok, alright,” he knew if he didn’t untangle them, he’d start hugging back, and if he hugged back, then he’d end up crying―and crying on a beautiful beach in Australia was only marginally better than crying in a strip club, and he’d have to pass on the experience. Lucifer started to squirm, pushing against his brother with his elbows and knees and whatever else he could do without causing a public scene. “ Please let go. I get it. You’re not going to help me.”

“Because you’re better than this.”

“I’m really not though.”

Cas gave one final squeeze, hard enough that the air was forced from Lucifer’s lungs, and the hug finally concluded with an undignified stagger in the shifting sand. 

Lucifer was given two seconds shy of the right amount of time needed to get his bearings, before his brother gripped him by the shoulder and the world did another one of those vomit inducing barrel rolls which ended with Lucifer’s bare, sandy feet on the familiar thick pile rug in his apartment. 

It felt good to be able to collapse onto his own couch, and to breathe in that distinctly flavored New York city air, or to at least try to breath and instead to a whole lot of choking and gagging on whatever of his internal organs had been shook loose in transit. 

“N-never do that,” Lucifer huffed, pressing his forehead to his knees, “to me again.”

“Alright,” Cas dragged the one word out dubiously, “but that will make it much harder for us to get to Australia next time we want coffee. I get sea sick.”

“Or we could just keep our feet on solid ground like the good lord intended.” Lucifer hugged his knees like he was thanking them for still being there with him through all this. “Coffee is just coffee. It literally grows on trees.”

Castiel didn’t seem to have an witty reply to that, and once Lucifer’s insides no longer felt like gelatin, he looked up to see that his brother was gone. 

It was a good trick, being able to come and go so quickly. Not a trick that Luci had any intention of learning however. He’d leave that up to his fearless little brother, who had probably sacrificed more of his precious time than necessary holding Lucifer’s hand for the night while he bitched and moaned over how awful everything was. 

Almost too exhausted to make it all the way from the couch to the bed, Lucifer sank onto the tangled sheets to fall asleep still fully dressed, with his face pressed into a pillow that used to smell like someone very important.

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was meant to be about something else all together  
> but... ok, I've had a rough week, and apparently what I NEEDED to think about was some quality brother time, so Luci and Mike spend half this chapter just being dorks at each other <3  
> if this was a 'real' story, for pacing, we wouldn't take this big break for a little fluff and bro-bonding... but here we are #sorrynotsorry

Lucifer woke to his ass being slapped like a set of bongos, and if it weren't for the pounding hangover he’d have been able to retaliate more than an irritated groan.

“This is exactly where I left you yesterday morning,” Gabriel complained, bouncing on the edge of the mattress and being a general menace. “Did you even get out of bed?”

Lucifer absolutely had. 

He’d dragged himself out of bed precisely three times a day, each day, over the past week. Once for food, twice to go to the bathroom. Anything more than that was too high of a demand on his body. For anyone asking, it was all work related exhaustion, a totally valid and not pitiful sounding excuse that no one could really raise an eyebrow at. 

Or at least it should have been.

Unfortunately, Mike knew him better than that, and starting two days ago, Mike had began to send in reinforcements. 

“Come  _ ooooon _ ,” Gabe whined as he picked out a rhythm to play, one that felt oddly like the intro to ‘Hot For Teacher’. “You’ve got to get up, you’ve got company.”

“I better not,” Lucifer grumbled into the mattress, finally summoning up the will to reach back and hit at whatever part of his little brother that he could reach. 

“And you’ve got work to do,” the little gremlin insisted.

“No,” he finally caught one of Gabriel’s wrists, pulling and twisting until the drumming finally stopped. Lucifer raised his head just enough to squint out at that happily grinning idiot, and tell him firmly, “Go away, or I’ll toss you out the window like a frisbee.”

“Ok, but that sounds amazing, so maybe work on your threats some, I feel like you’re losing your edge.” Gabriel, like the horrible person he was, laid himself down along Lucifer’s back, giving him a quick, full bodied hug. “I was going to launch into the list Mike wrote out for me―but holy-hygiene, Batman, when was the last time you took a shower? That is a  _ man’s _ smell if I ever smelled one. It smells like you’ve been marinating yourself in your blanket fort for a month. You’ve made your own musk.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re hungover.”

“Crawl up your own ass, Gabe.”

Laughing, Gabriel sat back up, and dragged some of the slipped blankets back over Lucifer like he was trying to hide him away. “Ok,” the list started, “To Do item zero-point-five: Find where you hid my anal retentive brother and return him to me at once, post haste.”

Lucifer let his head fall back against the bed, tightly closing his eyes, and trying to will Gabe away.

“To Do item one: Put away the groceries that Mike had sent up here yesterday and eat something, for the love of god. Two: Start teaching Sam some of the basics, and a bit of control, because Mike needs a scalpel and currently Sam is a chainsaw… a  _ sexy _ chainsaw, but still, not exactly subtle when he’s throwing around his magic. Three: Mike wants you to come to his place tonight, because someone found a something, and he needs you to tell him if it’s important enough to hang on to. Four: Tomorrow―”

“Hold up,” he rolled himself over and scrubbed both hands across his face, “and go back a bit. What about Sam?”

“He wants you to start teaching me,” Sam repeated item two with absolutely no enthusiasm.

Lucifer’s eyes snapped across the room to where Sam Winchester was standing, all awkward six plus feet of him, with his hands dug down deep in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, shifting his weight from one oversized foot to the other.

“I’m not a teacher.” It was a flat statement, and Lucifer withheld all emotion from it, hoping to get his point across without need for further explanation. 

“Mike says you have to,” Gabriel instantly shifted from obnoxious messenger to snotty little sibling. “He said it’s the only work he’s going to be sending your way. He even talked to Crowley about it. So you’re stuck with him, and it’s not fair, because he’s  _ my _ Sam, and I know you, and you’re not going to let me hang around while you two are working. So just get it over with, because the sooner you start then the sooner I get my snuggle bunny back.”

Well, it wasn’t the pet name that Lucifer would have gone with for the giant teenager who was awkwardly giving him the stink eye from the far corner of the room, but Lucifer had also willingly called Dean ‘sugar pants’, so perhaps he didn’t have the high ground on this one. 

Folding his arms over his face, trying to block out the light as well as the petulant adolescent angst that hung thick in the air, Lucifer struggled to pull his thoughts together. The large bottle of wine he’d had before bed the night before certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. 

Lucifer flat out didn’t want to help Mike by teaching Sam, or to help Sam get better at helping Mike, or any combination thereof. As far as Lucifer was concerned every part of the ugly, ragged, liquor soaked, emptiness inside of him originated from Michael and his badly timed ‘help’.

Mike had been the catalyst that caused that Dean shaped exit wound. 

Mike had introduced them. 

Mike had made Lucifer dependent on that solid weight beside him for a good night’s sleep.

Mike had failed (clearly on purpose) to explain to Dean how Lucifer felt.

_ Then _ Mike had openly refused to help retrieve the Dean that he’d misplaced.

And of course Mike had the balls to overstep himself and demand that Lucifer just drop everything and start tutoring Sam―who wouldn’t even be in New York, dating Gabriel, needing teaching, if he hadn’t been following Dean in the first place. 

This was Mike’s fault. 

Every fucking fucked up facet of the everything that was wrong with Lucifer’s heart ache was caused by Michael, and it would be a cold day in hell before― 

Lucifer let his arms fall open wide, blinking wildly up at the high ceiling and the faint outline of plastic glow in the dark stars that Gabriel had somehow managed to stick up there years ago. 

Sam… Sam had followed Dean all the way from Texas to New York. 

How had the moose managed to find a missing brother that he hadn’t seen in a decade?

More importantly, would he be willing and able to do it again?

Not that Lucifer was being a sad stalker of a boyfriend, because regardless of what Castiel had called him, technically Dean and him had never been on a date, so it was really more of one friend worrying about another. Which was perfectly normal, and almost noble if you thought about it the right way.

“All right, Jolly Green,” Lucifer sighed and started attempting to excavate himself from the many layers of blankets, “I’ll teach you about magic and stuff, but only because I’m bored. As soon as the novelty wears off, it’s back to Gabe’s love dungeon for you.”

“ _ Just _ magic, Lu,” Gabe hissed, “no ‘and stuff’.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow in question, sure that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“ ‘ _ And stuff _ ’ can get real sexy real fast when you’re dealing with a hot tamale like Sam, but he’s my boyfriend. Mine. You keep the teaching to the text books, and your hands to yourself, or I will chew them off you like a rabid dog. Cool?”

“Wow,” Lucifer whistled, impressed. He sat up and reached out to rustle his brother’s mess of hair. “I get it. Hands off your snacks.” 

It wasn’t going to be a problem, but Lucifer wouldn’t insult Gabriel by pointing out that his boyfriend looked like a praying mantis in a John Lennon wig―if only because it might start things off on a bad foot between Sam and himself.

First things first, and that meant a shower. There was literally nothing else that Lucifer could do, smelling like he did, until a nice hot shower was checked off his list. He smelled like depression, and sadness, and too much red wine, and not nearly enough deodorant. 

“I’m going to,” Lucifer scratched at his jaw and remembered that it had been over a week since he’d had a shave, “get dressed. Sam, you can sit down and not touch anything. And, Gabe, get to school, I’m sure you’ve already missed half your classes today.”

“Lu, it’s June,” Gabriel said, his eyes dancing in amusement. “School’s out. I graduated and everything.”

Those words twisted in Lucifer’s gut and he realised that his time spent face down in bed might actually be a little longer than only a week. He stuffed that worry down, and did his best to joke, “They let you graduate?”

“I don’t think Dad could have paid them enough to keep me there,” Gabe grinned and hopped off the bed. “And don’t even try apologising for missing my graduation, you’ll just make it awkward. Everyone knows you’ve been sick, or whatever―so it’s whatever. Make it up to me by being good to my Sammich.”

It might have been said in all honesty. Gabriel was typically a pretty forgiving kid.

But, oh, that guilt was going to eat at Lucifer for at least a good year or two. 

Shower first. Guilt after. 

He grabbed a set of clean clothes and went to scrub himself all over, until the lingering stink of depression faded all he could smell on his skin was soap. It hardly felt worth the effort, especially knowing that a shave and real clothes needed to come next. However, he knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in a stolen Black Sabbath t-shirt. 

He also knew he couldn’t do it in a full suit and tie. 

At least not all at once. It was too much to attempt all in one day. 

He managed to get as far as slacks and a button down shirt before he had to give up and get himself away from the bathroom mirror and the hollow-eyed reflection looking back at him.

It was easy to find where Sam had wandered off to, the apartment wasn’t exactly spacious, and the kid wasn’t exactly small or unobtrusive. Problem was that Gabriel was still hanging around, straddling Sam’s lap where the two sat tightly folded together on the couch, kissing like they were going for the gold medal in couples tonsil hockey. It was an awful eyefull for an unprepared Lucifer, and worse so when his brain caught up with the way the two youngsters were rocking together, Sam’s arms around Gabriel, but Gabriel’s hands nowhere to be seen.

Sadly, Lucifer didn’t have a hose anywhere in his highrise studio apartment.

He did have a pitcher of water in the fridge though, and that was quickly emptied out over the heads of the two teenagers on his couch, without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Gabriel shrieked, Sam sputtered, and Lucifer did as best as he could to not look too closely at either of them. 

“No sex in my apartment,” Lucifer clarified, just in case there was any question as to why he’d drenched them and possibly ruined his own couch. “For  _ anyone _ . And, if either of you whips it out in my apartment ever again I’ll be forced to cleanse the building by burning it down with you both inside.” 

Shaking water from his hair, Gabriel pointedly reminded Lucifer, “You suck!” 

“Yeah, and I’m sure if I’d been two minutes longer in the shower, that’s exactly what you’d be doing out here.” He set the empty pitcher on the table harder than necessary. “No sex in my apartment. No heavy petting. No making-out. No getting off. No rounding second base. No erotic daydreams. No groping. No dry humping. No none of it. I have to sleep in here. It’s my safe place.”

Sam wasn’t looking at him. The kid had his face mostly turned away, bright red all the way to his ears, as he fumbled to fix his jeans―which would have probably gone more smoothly and quickly if he didn’t still have a lapful of boyfriend. 

Lucifer was grateful for the awkwardness, it meant that he didn’t have to risk any accidental glimpses of things he’d really rather not see. The fact that his baby brother felt a need to ‘mark his territory’ at all was as gross as it was cute. 

Not that he’d ever admit it, but at some point in the past Lucifer had also been an awkward teenager in love with a boy he’d been convinced was way out of his league. Lucifer had been just as worried he’d somehow lose that special someone to pretty much anyone ‘better’ who came along, and as such had been exactly as obnoxious and possessive as Gabe was now. 

It was almost comforting to know that things didn’t change.

“Gabe, make yourself scarce for a while,” Lucifer said, waving a hand towards the door, “your boyfriend and I are going to sit on opposite sides of the room and do some incredibly uninteresting magical assessment stuff so I can see what kind of hell I just agreed to help Michael with. You’re distracting. For both of us.”

Clothing all back in place, Gabriel crawled off of Sam and stood up to his full five foot nothing of height, squaring those little shoulders of his as he looked up at his older brother. “I’d ask how long it’ll take… but you’re in a  _ mood _ . So, I’ll pick us all up some dinner and be back around eight. Alright?”

It was a good deal, so Luci took it, saying goodbye to Gabe and locking all the locks on the door just in case the little gremlin returned with an excuse that he’d forgotten something. 

“Allright, Sammy Davis Junior,” Lucifer stepped around the coffee table and sank down onto the couch right beside the dripping wet kid. “I’m not a teacher. I’m just not. But I had one once, and I remember how she did things, so we’re just going to try and do our best here. It’s not really an exact science… and you’re going to  _ have to _ look at me while we talk. I don’t do grumpy teenager.”

The way that Sam looked up said that he might  _ only _ know how to do ‘grumpy teenager’.

“Perfect,” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. “Look, this isn’t a punishment, at least not for you. This is probably just something that, as a kid born into this side of the world, you should have started years ago.”

Sam sat there looking at him for a beat before softening the angry line between his eyebrows. “Can I have a towel?”

Lucifer pointed to the bathroom, letting the kid go attempt to dry himself off a bit before they got started. This was all going to be unpleasant enough on its own without the kid dripping water everywhere.

“Gabe said you take long showers,” Sam called from the other room and it took Lucifer a moment to realise that those words might have been meant as an apology.

“It’s my couch,” he couldn’t believe that they needed to have this conversation. “Look, you’re not living here, so my rules are going to be very loose, with the exception of simply not screwing my brother where I sleep. He’s my little baby brother. I taught him how to ride a bike. There’s certain mental images of him that I can do without. Capiche?”

“What kind of rules?” Sam popped his head around the open door, wearing a very suspicious expression.

Lucifer took a deep breath, thinking of his mother and the rules that she’d laid out for him and Castiel―and damn Michael for making him do this at all. 

“Neither of us get to say No,” and then he realised how that might sound, and Lucifer rushed to clarify. “You ask a question. I  _ will _ answer it as best as I can, and if I can’t then I’ll find someone for you who can. And in trade, if I tell you to try something, you try it. If you’re not able to physically do what I ask, fine. But you’ll still try it first. You don’t get to nope out of anything.”

Sam was frowning about as hard as his sweet little baby face could.

“Look, kid. Magic is a lot like sex in that it can get dangerous if you do it wrong. There’s more ways than you’d think to hurt yourself while experimenting and messing around. So ask first. If you don’t understand, ask. If it doesn’t feel right, ask.” 

“ _ Anything _ ?”

Lucifer didn’t like the light that had kindled behind the kid’s eyes. He didn’t like all the doors that that simple question slammed open. And if he didn’t want the kid’s help so badly he’d retract the offer and crawl back in bed. 

“Anything,” he agreed, promising himself that it would be worth opening up. 

Quid pro quo required at least a modicum of trust. You don’t introduce yourself to someone, and then demand that they help you hunt down their brother. This was the sort of favor that required a little whining and dining first. 

“What is with your dad?” The question burst out of Sam like it had been primed and ready to go forever. “Like, I can’t ask Gabe, he talked about your dad like he’s god or something. But you, you were with Dean trying to keep me from going out there back in April. You know what’s up. So what is he?”

It was unusual for anyone outside the family to talk about Dad with such open fear and mistrust. Most people were instantly won over by the perfectly crafted smiles, and all the expertly presented manners. 

Lucifer leaned back into the couch and looked at the kid thoughtfully. “What do  _ you _ think he is?”

“You said you’d answer my questions,” Sam began to twist the towel between his hands.

“And I will, but first I want to see how your brain works.”

Sam didn’t have a good poker face, and the mistrust and uncertainty he felt was as clear as a neon sign. “I don’t know, man. He’s like a witch living in a candy house. Sure, everything seems great, but there’s this feeling like.. I don’t know… like behind the smiles and stuff, that he’s waiting to cook me up and eat me. I don’t know what that makes him. My parents were hunters, and I went with them a couple times, not that that makes me an expert or anything. I just… I’ve never met anything that made the hair on my neck stand up like your Dad did.”

“That’s not how you talked about him when me and your brother came to bring you back from the big house.”

“Yeah well, I’d have had to tell Dean he was right,” Sam scrunched his nose before tossing his towel into the hamper and coming back to the couch. “Besides, Gabe was having a great time. I didn’t want to make it weird between me and him.”

“Dad’s an angel,” Lucifer offered simply, and watched those words working their way over Sam.

There were frowns at first, then some cheek scratching, followed by Sam folding and unfolding his oversized hands in his lap. Finally, he asked, “Like in the Bible?”

“More like from the Torah. Less harps and wings and ‘fear not for I bring good tidings’ and a lot more fire and a hundred eyes and the head of a lion… I think.” Lucifer hitched one shoulder. “At least as far as I understand.”

“He’s really,” Sam paused, “people shaped though.”

“Yeah, he tells it like he left Heaven in a big self-righteous huff a couple centuries ago, but I personally think he got kicked out for being awful. Either way, now he’s stuck in a people shape.” The words brought a small smile to Lucifer.

“What does that make Gabriel?”

The open curiosity in that question made it easier for Lucifer to tuck away most of his unease at the bluntness of Sam’s questions. 

“I suppose it makes him half of an angel,” Lucifer answered with a soft chuckle. “Though with him it’s a little hard to tell.”

“With  _ any _ of you,” Sam corrected with an awkward laugh. “Gabe isn’t like… also centuries old, right?”

“No. He’s perfectly eighteen,” and Lucifer couldn’t help but think there was something so pure that with a whole world open for Sam, no question off the table, the kid was asking for details about his own boyfriend.

Oh, to be young, and dumb, and in love.

Instead of old, and dumb, and in love, and alone.

Lucifer relaxed in stages, letting Sam ask any and every question that came into that big old head of his. Outwardly, it didn’t resemble proper magic training, so much as a very dubious history lesson, but Lucifer knew that this all had to come first and it couldn’t be glossed over. 

Teacher and student relationships required trust, and Sam might have been curious, but the way he never once fully relaxed himself during the hours that they talked, it was clear that they’d need a lot more work before trust entered in.

Which was good. 

Something as important as trust should never get handed out like a party favor.

For the first time in his life Gabriel was on time, banging on the door at eight, yelling, “Open up, I’ve got pizza.”

Sam practically flew to the door, throwing it open and giving Gabe a long kiss before letting him come inside.

“Guys,” Lucifer warned, not wanting this to become a thing. It was his  _ only _ damn rule.

“It was in the hallway,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes.

“And it can go back to the hall,” Lucifer got to his feet, grabbing the nearest pair of shoes he saw amongst the absolute mess that his apartment had become at some point. “I’ve got some things I need to do, so you boys can go back to your own place. Sam? Same time tomorrow?”

Lucifer did well with expectations. If the kid was coming back tomorrow, then Lucifer would be awake and dressed and ready for him. A set schedule would help to pull him out of his own head. 

Other things would help too. Like getting out of the apartment for the first time in (apparently?) weeks. The sounds of the city had been too distant for too long, and stepping out onto the street was like putting on his favorite record. 

If traffic and people yelling across the streets were music, then the drink Lucifer took from the bartender at The BlackRabbit was a favorite meal. 

He should have stopped to get some actual food, something with the carbs and proteins that he’d been severely lacking in recently. But, the best cure he knew for a hangover was a shot of mezcal, and a promise that once he felt a bit more human that he’d head to one of the local restaurants. 

There’d been an awful lot of promises since Gabriel annoyed him out of bed hours before, and Lucifer wondered just how many he’d actually manage to keep. If the past was any indication? He was looking at a fifty-fifty chance. 

“Heya, Boss Junior,” a sweet feminin voice said from over his shoulder. 

Lucifer half turned, finding himself face to face with one of the club’s waitresses. Her face was familiar, and her name maybe started with an E… but also maybe didn’t.

“The big boss wanted to know if you’ve eaten any real food today?” She asked with a twinkle of amusement in her golden eyes. 

He’d been sitting for less than five minutes, and already Michael was on his case. He expected nothing less. “If he wants to know he can come on out here and ask me himself.”

The little waitress flipped her round black tray upright, flat against her chest, grinning at Lucifer. “He said if you refuse to answer to give you this―” she turned her tray back the right way, and on it was a set of chinese take away boxes. 

He snorted a sharp breath. “Show off.” Flashy magic like that was pretty unique to those with fey in their blood.

She practically beamed at the complement. Grinning, she shifted the boxes to the bar. “And it’s paid in full, so eat up…you look like you need it.” Her smile slid off center and she shifted the tray to one hip, hesitating before offering, “We were all taking bets on when you’d get pulled out of the river. It’s nice to know we don’t have an upcoming funeral to go to.”

Lucifer wasn’t in a good state of mind for much of anything other than drinking, but he found himself smiling at the unexpected sentiment. “Sorry to disappoint, Evelyn.”

With the noise of the club her laughter was almost entirely lost aside from the happy bounce of her shoulders. “Essme,” she corrected, but not like she minded the misnaming―and considering she worked for Michael, being called the wrong name probably just felt like part of the job. “Good to see you again.” Essme dipped her head and wove her way back out into the crowd. 

The chinese food was cold, and both boxes were only more than slightly half full, which meant that Michael had sent out his own dinner, probably because it was the only thing he had on hand, because he wanted to make sure that some food made it into Lucifer as soon as possible. And apparently any food at all would do. 

He and Michael hadn’t been kids together. They’d spent their childhoods in different houses, in different states, not even aware of one another until they were in their teens. By that point they’d both been through what any decent psychologist would call ‘complex trauma’, and they were both barely treading water, struggling to keep from drowning, and looking for anything to grab hold of that might keep them afloat. Sometimes it felt to Lucifer like he’d made a mistake when he was fourteen, and Michael was the anchor he’d tied himself to. And other times… Other times Lucifer was just really grateful that they both loved honey walnut shrimp and pork fried rice.

Greasy food and bitter liquor took miles off him, and by the time he was scraping the bottom of the little white box with his chopsticks, Lucifer actually felt up to dealing with his life. 

In small chunks.

Michael was easy to find, tucked away in one of the back offices, hunched over his laptop like a gremlin, probably balancing books or surfing the internets for a hot date. Lucifer had no idea and no intention of asking. He just rounded the desk and wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders and flattened Michael’s hair with his chin. 

“You showered,” Michael said as he snapped the laptop closed. “It’s an improvement.”

“I’m not a teacher. Why are you trying to make me a teacher?”

“Because I don’t have the time or the ability to teach him, and because if you go back to your normal work, you’d bury yourself and I’ll be the one to find you bleeding on the floor... again, except maybe this time I’d be too late to keep you alive.” Mike explained without his usual level of confidence. He reached up, hooking one of Lucifer’s arms. “If you don’t plan on strangling me, can you let go?”

“It’s a hug.”

“No. It’s awful.”

Lucifer squeezed a little tighter. “I hate kids. Always have. Even when I was one.”

“I believe they like to be called teenagers, or young adults, by the time they’re his size.”

“Well, that’s even worse.” Lucifer finally let go, sidestepping his brother’s chair to sit on the edge of his desk. “If you sent Sam to me as a distraction, stop. I was enjoying wallowing in my own self pity, and I hate when you meddle.”

“Every time I step in, it’s for your own good.”

“You sound like Dad,” Lucifer sneered.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, and you know it.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. 

This conversation wasn’t about Lucifer trying to talk his way out of the job he’d unwillingly been assigned to. But, it would have been odd if he hadn’t argued about it, so regardless of how he actually felt, it was important to put up a fuss. 

Lucifer matched his brother's posture, folding his arms and frowning. “Just because you didn’t have a plan when you decided to hire him, doesn’t mean that you can pawn him off on me now.”

“I had intentions,” Mike started with a sigh, “but you should see him try and work a spell. There’s a lot of power behind it, and he doesn’t even bat an eye… but even  _ I _ can feel him doing it. The kid wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass.”

“I could have told you exactly how bad it was, if you’d asked me before you went and scooped him up.”

“You know this is a family business, Lu,” and the way Michael said it made it sound like he hadn’t any other options. 

“Yeah, but now Dean’s gone and I’m stuck babysitting his brother.”

“Teaching. Not babysitting.”

“I am not a teacher,” Lucifer sounded it out slowly.

“Emotional manipulation is,” Mike paused and made a face, “it’s magic from the  _ other _ side of things,” by which he clearly meant demonic, but for once he avoided a chance to mention Lucifer’s mother. “If Castiel was still around maybe I could have asked him to help. But he’s not, and you are, so the choices for mentor are pretty damn limited unless we look outside the family, and that’s―”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s not something that we do.” 

And Michael nodded, seemingly pleased that they were getting onto the same page. “Which meant the only other viable options for his schooling were you, Balthazar, or Azazel.” 

It was almost impossible to hear those names without wincing. Lucifer didn’t have enough fingers to count out all of his siblings, but he absolutely had a short list of favorites, and neither Azazel or Balthazar would have made that list. “Gabriel would never forgive you for throwing his precious to the wolves.”

“Which is why I sent him to  _ you _ ,” Mike said like it all should have been obvious, and why were they even still having this conversation?

Lucifer let out a dramatic sigh, as was expected of him. “What pearls of wisdom are you hoping I’ll impart on the kid, exactly?”

“Make him less obvious? You know, like how you do things.”

“Mike, I’ve been at this for decades. Sam is like… he’s twelve years old. He’s not capable of ‘less obvious’ and won’t be until he’s had  _ years _ more practice.”

“Dad wants us to hang on to him,” Mike said in a way that seemed final, because as far as he must have been concerned that decision was handed down to him from the mouth of God. “He says the kid’s got promise. So, it looks like you’ll have all the time in the world to figure out how to teach him the subtle art of being subtle.”

If Lucifer was going to make a commitment of literal  _ years _ to any man, it wouldn’t be Sam, and he hoped that that intention was clear on his face.

“I can get him started,” he offered finally, “but, then I want my normal job back.”

Michael shrugged, after all, it wasn’t in his hands. Decisions like that came from higher up. 

But it was a deliberate non-answer, and Lucifer had grown up learning how to read between the lines. 

“What have you heard?” He asked, threading magic into those words. The lights in the room hardly even flickered, more like they dimmed for a moment, and that could have easily been passed off as a byproduct of his own emotional state. Usually Lucifer wouldn’t push on Michael at all, but he was in a mood, and it was obvious that his brother wasn’t actively going to offer it up, or he’d have done more than shrug. 

“Dad’s been talking to some contacts from down south. It’s starting to look like maybe he’s going to fully transition over to the manmade kinds of recreation, and you’d be off the hook all together.”

“Off the hook? What the hell is ‘off the hook’ supposed to mean?”

“Look, Lu, it’s clear you can’t do the work on your own. You and Castiel were barely cutting it as it was, and it almost killed you both. So, Dad’s exploring other options. Maybe permanent ones.”

“We were fine.”

“Really? No one even knows where Castiel is anymore, and you’re going to look me in the eye and say what happened to him was  _ fine _ ? You’re going to say what happened to you was  _ fine _ ?”

‘Fine’ had been a poor choice of words, but Lucifer still insisted, “I’m not hearing the voices anymore.”

“No? Are you sure that has nothing to do with the permanent hearing damage you gave yourself?” 

He grit his jaw and resisted the urge to touch his ear. It didn’t even really hurt anymore, but Michael was never going to let it go. “So, you’re telling me, after everything Cassy and I did, that Dad’s just… just what? Going in a different direction?”

“He’s trying to keep you both safe,” Michael insisted, raising his voice. “Or just you, since that’s all he has left―because, again, your brother worked himself into a psych ward, broke out, and no one has seen him since.”

“I’m not Cassy, and Dad can’t just…” the idea was starting to actually sink in past the initial knee jerk reaction and customary protests, and Lucifer was struggling. “He took everything away from us, Mike. Everything. And now he’s just gone and changed his mind?” 

The mezcal and takeout suddenly were not sitting well with him. 

Not that Lucifer even liked his work, but it was  _ his _ . It was the same work that he’d been doing for his father since he was thirteen years old, and it was the only god damned thing that he knew how to do. 

“This is good,” Michael eased, brushing his fingers along Lucifer’s forearm in a touch that was probably supposed to be comforting. “You were pushing yourself too hard. Now you don’t have to.”

He didn’t have to, because he no longer served a purpose to the family.

Knowing his brother like he did, Lucifer could see the logic behind Mike’s words. He could even see how it was supposed to be reassuring and protective, and all the sorts of things that brothers were supposed to be towards one another in an ideal and not realistic world. Hell, Mike had even pushed Sam his way, just so that Lucifer would have something to keep him busy, so that he’d feel useful, and like he was still a vital part in the bigger machine. 

But, it didn’t work that way. 

Lucifer was being phased out, and there was nothing that Michael could have said to convince him otherwise. 

“I know that look,” Mike said suddenly, his voice going dark and flat.

Lucifer stopped chewing on his thumb, back going tight, as he became overly aware of how he was holding himself. “What look?”

“Please don’t try to leave again.”

Ah,  _ that _ look.

“If I’m going to die then I’ll do it on my feet, not on my knees.”

Michael closed his eyes and looked like he was slowly counting to ten. 

Lucifer leaned forward until his knees hit the arm rests of his brother’s chair. “You used to make plans to leave with me.”

“But then I grew up,” Michael slitted his eyes, looking up at Lu long and hard, “and I’ve been scrambling for years to find you a reason to stay.”

“If he doesn’t need me anymore then it doesn’t matter if I stay or if I go.”

“You’re not expendable, Lu. He’s your dad. He loves you.”

“Yeah, and he loved my mom too, but she outlived her usefulness and―”

“You’re not her!” Michael rose up out of his chair, coming nose to nose with Lucifer. “And you don’t have to repeat her mistakes. She stole from Dad, and anything else you can say about her, he needed to make an example out of her. But that’s not you.”

“She took her kids, not his property.”

“It doesn’t matter what she took. You don’t steal from family,” Mike said as if anything at all could somehow justify their father’s actions. “This is just the way of things. My brother, you can’t keep living like every little shift in his regular routine is a death sentence for you.”

“He tried to have me killed!”

“You tried to leave, and we’ve already gone through this.” Mike stepped back, running his hands through his hair as he made low, angry sounds in his throat. “Please, fucking  _ please _ , for once in your life, just let me help you dig yourself out of the grave you keep jumping into.” 

Dad didn’t let assets go, and he didn’t hang on to liabilities and no matter how many times the two brothers had this conversation, Lucifer would never be able to get his mind around how Michael couldn’t see that there was no version of this where Lucifer didn’t end up with a bullet in his chest. 

Finishing his small circuit around the desk, Michael came back to stand in front of Lucifer. “You stubborn bastard. Teach the kid, and any other demon spawn that Dad wants to bring in. I’ll keep you busy. I’ll keep you indispensable to him. You just have to trust me for once.”

It was rare to hear any emotion out of Mike other than general irritation. The man had gone through his own version of hell long before they met. He never talked about it, and Lucifer (being his friend and brother) had never asked. They both dealt with their traumas in their own uniquely bad ways. Lucifer had grown skittish and mistrusting, weary of anyone getting too close to his soft spots, and Mike had gone the harder route of simply refusing to have any soft spots.

At least most of the time. 

Because even if he wasn't’ meant to, Lucifer knew his brother well enough to see how hard this all was for him. 

Though he didn’t come down to the mazes for a fight, he’d ended up picking one anyways. Like he always did. Reaching out, he wrapped his brother in a hug like an apology, folding his body around the smaller man and squeezing him until Michael sighed and hugged back. 

“I’ve always trusted you,” Lucifer whispered roughly, pressing his cheek against the top of Michael’s head.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” came the soft complaint.

“ _ I’ve _ got a funny way?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the horrible mood he’d dragged down around them. “You’re the one who’s trusting me with an actual human life. Who even does that? You know I’m going to screw that kid up so bad. Look at me. I’m an actual mess.”

“You didn’t even put on a tie,” Michael noted, pulling back to hold Lucifer at arm’s length, making a show out of frowning and fussing. 

“I had to rush out of the apartment before Sam and Gabriel started making smooshy faces at each other again.”

“Smooshy faces?”

“And goo goo eyes.”

“In your apartment? How dare they.”

Lucifer chuckled, even though it hurt his throat. Reluctantly, he let go of his brother and stepped back to put a comfortable distance between them. “You should take a break and come get dinner with me.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Michael asked, glancing down at his watch.

“I did,” Lucifer tucked his thumbs into his pockets, angling himself towards the door and looking expectant, “but  _ you _ didn’t. So come on. I’ll creepily watch you eat, and you can help me pick out an easy lay.”

Mike paused mid-step, raising an eyebrow. 

“Or we can buy drugs,” Lucifer offered with a hollow grin, like a jack o'lantern. 

“You got out of bed though… I thought that meant you were feeling better.”

“Oh no, I’m completely dead inside,” he said with a brittle laugh, holding the door open for his brother, “but time heals all wounds, or something like that, right?”

“Time and sex?”

“Or drugs,” Lucifer reiterated his offer. “I need to get him out of my head somehow.”

“ _ Or... _ we could just drink and talk like normal brothers do when one of them gets dumped,” which was a testament to just how much Michael didn’t want to support any of Lucifer’s other crutches.

“I didn’t get  _ dumped _ ,” and Lucifer had to try his best to sound offended, because being offended was easier for public consumption than if he just embraced the general depression. “We would have had to actually date for him to dump me.  _ Also _ , I don’t get dumped. Especially not by a blue collar, bow legged, ratty jean wearing, magic-less, thug.” 

“There it is,” Michael said with open relief, following Lucifer out through one of the many back exits of the club. “I knew that proud asshole of a brother was still in there somewhere.” 

“Shut up,” Lucifer groaned, jogging up old cement stairs to get back up to street level. 

“You’ve got every right to be mad, how dare that peasant steal your heart with his crass manners and beguiling smile.”

“You’re not funny,” he called over his shoulder, “and you need to stop reading those romance novels. People are going to start talking about you.”

“If they do I’ll shoot them.”

“A perfectly reasonable response,” Lucifer mumbled, matching his stride to his brother’s as they hit the sidewalk and made a beeline towards a couple of food trucks parked in a nearby lot.

“I’d say it’s as reasonable as you deciding your only options tonight are either narcotics or unanomous sex.”

“Do you mean  _ anonymous _ sex?”

“I know what I said,” Michael gave him a flat look before turning to the truck and ordering some street tacos. 

Either way, Lucifer would have to have to argue. 

He was fairly certain that any type of sex and/or drugs were incredibly normal reactions to fucking up his own love life. In fact, those had been his trusty default options through most of his teenage years, and he saw absolutely no reason why his adult self shouldn’t be allowed the same distractions.

They ended up in a bar, tucked up side by side, watching the crowd, with Lucifer heavily regretting his choice of drinking partners. 

“Well, what about that one? She keeps looking over here.”

“That’s a female,” Lucifer pointed out the obvious, not making it any more awkward than it needed to be by telling his brother that the young woman who kept looking over seemed to have eyes only for Michael.

“I’d hope so,” Mike said with the smallest flicker of amusement.

“I’m gay.”

“Really?” Michael leaned back, hitching up his elbows up onto the bar behind him and looking as he regarded his brother. “You finally decided on gay?”

“That’s not how it works, Mikey.”

“That’s how  _ something _ had to work, because you can’t have  _ always  _ been gay. What about that lady cop you were dating a while back?”

“Oh, I was just helping her dig up dirt on Balthazar. Pretending to date was the easiest way to get her into the big house.”

“Is that how he ended up in jail? I’d always thought he’d just got a little sloppy and left evidence behind somewhere.”

Lucifer smiled and wet his lips on his drink, neither confirming or denying. 

“He’s our brother.”

“He spoiled the end of the Dark Tower books and had to be punished,” which was mostly a lie, but Lucifer knew if he told Mike how Balthazar was the cause of Gabriel’s broken nose a couple years back, then worse things than a couple nights in jail happen to their half brother. Michael wasn’t nearly as nice as Lucifer.

“What about him?” Mike asked, pointing with his drink to the bartender.

“He is working, possibly straight,” Lucifer took note of those strong shoulders and the man’s wide, heavy hands, “definitely married.”

“Now you’re just being picky,” his brother complained, rolling his eyes. “I thought we were looking for someone to go home with, not someone to start a deep, meaningful, gay relationship with.”

“I wasn’t even looking to go home. A couple minutes alone in the bathroom with the door locked would be good enough for me.”

Michael looked ill. “A public bathroom? Lu, that’s disgusting.”

“You think all sex is disgusting.”

“It just doesn’t seem worth it,” he set down his empty glass and stole Lucifer’s, finishing it off with one very deliberate swallow. 

And Lucifer could have been annoyed, but instead he found himself smiling fondly at his older brother. 

“It’s so much less…  _ moist _ in books than it is in real life.” Mike wrinkled his nose, tipping his head towards Luci with a sigh that was utter confusion and somehow still oddly impressed. “I really don’t know how you people do it.”

“I could explain it to you, but I think you’d hit me,” Lucifer grinned, leaning against his brother’s side. 

“How about one of those?” Mike ignored him to point very obviously to a nearby table where a half dozen young men in polo shirts sat, sharing a couple pitchers of beer. 

Lucifer cringed. “I’d rather kiss a girl.”

“You’re too picky,” his brother said with a frustrated sound. “Seeing as you just want to screw some random man in the bathroom, can’t you afford to be a little more lax with your standards? Shouldn’t a dick pretty much the only requirement here?”

“Just because I’m hungry doesn’t mean that I’m willing to eat out of a dumpster,” he said with very deliberate clarity, getting that Mike was only half joking, and the other half was legitimate asexual confusion that needed clarification. 

“Well, what are you in the mood to eat then?” Michael asked, turning on his bar stool to shake his empty glass at the bartender in question. “Because if we’re looking for Dean look-alike, you can save me a whole lot of leg work by just coming out and saying it.”

Lucifer closed his eyes, and for the briefest moment let his mind tumble over thoughts of Dean, but it was too much like prodding around at a cavity with his tongue. It only hurt, and it sure as hell didn’t help. 

“Can I just get drunk and go to bed?” He asked, not opening his eyes, not wanting to see the look his brother would give him. 

“Pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing the past couple weeks,” Michael said like it was the punch line of a joke they shared. “So, perk the fuck up, Lu. We’re looking for someone for you to  _ smash... _ or whatever the kids are calling it these days… like that one. What about him? I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

Which was enough to get Lucifer to open his eyes. It was easy enough to spot the man his brother was pointing to, and not just because Michael was one of the most painfully obvious people when it came to things like this. 

The intended target was well put together, obviously tailored suit, cufflinks, silk tie, careful smile as he held the door open for another couple who’d approached the bar right on his heels. Most importantly, he seemed to notice Michael openly pointing at him, and his response was to eye both brothers with a vaguely curious look that ended with a knowing, lingering sort of expressions that he broke off too quickly as he took himself to the opposite end of the bar to get a drink. 

“Maybe,” Lucifer said slowly, not wanting to congratulate his brother on the find too early.

“So… how does it work now? Do you buy him a drink? Do you go over and give him a secret handshake? I haven't seen you do this since we were in school, and god, I hope that you’ve gotten better since then.”

Lucifer loved the idea of something so simple and straightforward as a handshake. Still, this was a hookup, and really, it wasn’t all that complicated either. He hopped off his stool and nodded to Mike. “I’ll be back… either really quick, or in about five minutes.”

Michael looked highly sceptical, but shrugged and turned back to his recently refilled drink, apparently willing to wait. 

Which was good, because it actually ended up taking closer to ten minutes before Lucifer was sliding up beside his brother with a smile on his face. “You good to go, Mikey?”

“It took you long enough,” Michael grumbled and tucked away his cell phone. 

“I’m a little out of practice,” he said with a shrug, following his brother out of the bar with a little bounce in his step for the first time in months. 

After an awful lot of scowling and false starts, Mike eventually asked, “Feeling better at least?”

“Well, I’m not feeling worse?” Was the most honest answer that Lucifer could give. He knew his brother didn’t want any of the juicy details. Michael would only make more faces if Lucifer tried to give a play by play. So they’d acknowledge that he was simply on a dopamine high, riding a massive hit of endorphins, and leave it at that.

“Did you want to come stay at my place tonight?” Mike offered out of the blue, and something must have shown in the way that Lucifer stumbled, because his brother clarified, “I don’t think you should be alone for a while.”

“You worried about me, Mikey?” Lucifer tried to tease, smiling to cover the way his happy feelings were seeping away like water through cracks in the pavement. 

“Always,” Michael said like it should have been obvious. “But also, when you left me alone at the bar I ended up talking to someone... and we traded phone numbers. I’m worried they might call me, and I need backup.”

Lucifer snorted and linked his arm through his brother’s, not at all sure if this was a joke, but almost convinced it had to be. Just a flimsy excuse not to let Lucifer go home alone, and overthink things, and drink himself back to sleep, like he’d been doing for the past couple weeks. 

So, he agreed to go, inwardly grateful for the excuse to stay away from his apartment for a little longer, but outwardly harassing his brother for more information on this unexpected stranger that he’d met.

Because the thing was, Mike seemed to openly detest pretty much all forms of human life. He didn’t  _ meet _ people in bars. He didn’t meet people at all if he could help it. He didn’t even open his mouth to talk in public places at all if he could find a way around it. 

Lucifer thought that last part might have something to do with the crippling stutter that his brother had had back when they were teens. Mike never saw a therapist for it because there was ‘ _ nothing wrong _ ’, and the final work around for the problem more or less just became Michael keeping his mouth shut unless he was pissed off enough to get the words out clearly. 

Which was almost definitely the reason why everyone who didn’t know him well enough was terrified of Michael. 

“So, you  _ talked _ to someone?” Lucifer dragged the question out, being as irritating as he could about it. “Boy or girl? I’m going to need details. I’ve got to know what I’m getting myself into by playing back up.”

Michael let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head. 

Which caught Lucifer’s ear and he watched his brother out of the corner of his eye for almost half a city block before asking, “We feeling good or bad about this?” 

“You’re obviously feeling good.”

“ _ You _ ,” Lucifer tried to clarify, “are  _ you _ feeling good or bad about this?”

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Lu. Not when you’ve spent the last few weeks in a wine fueled depression cocoon.”

“And it’s not your job to worry about me, but I think you could be dead and somehow you’d manage to haunt me out of concern.”

“Because you’re a wreck, even on good days.”

“And you met someone in a bar and now you want back up,” Lucifer tried to keep his tone light and teasing, “Good or bad, Mikey? Because say the word and I’ll go back into that bar and break some fingers if you want,” but he could hear himself and knew that there was a bite to his words that shouldn’t have been there. 

“He’s a he,” Michael said carefully, not looking over as they spoke, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk rolled out ahead of them. “The woman who’d been looking at us since we came in, after you left she took your seat. She got touchy. He came and chased her off.”

Which could have been cute, except for everything that was wrong with it.

“She got touchy?” Lucifer asked tightly. “Are you ok?”

“I am an adult. I am fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m an adult too, but fuckin’ look at me,” he gave his brother a nudge. “There’s no age limit on freaking out. Hell, I have a mild to moderate freak out at least once a week.”

“Yes you do,” Michael agreed.

“It’s healthy.”

“It's dramatic.”

“It’s good for the soul,” Lucifer said, trying to sound supportive, but he didn’t have all that much practice, “just like talking to a guy in a bar is probably also good for your soul.”

“Mostly he talked,” Michael said finally, fishing the key to his apartment building out of a pocket, but the doorman got there first, nodding in greeting to the brothers as they passed. Michael picked back up his story once the elevator door closed behind them. “He asked for my phone. He put his number in ‘ _ just in case _ ’ he said. That was it.”

Lucifer had released his brother’s arm once they’d entered the building, which was probably for the best, because it left him free to grip the little railing around the inside of the elevator while the machine shuttered and slowly climbed upward. 

Stairs had been invented for a reason. Men weren't meant to be jammed into little metal boxes until they were ready to be put in the ground, but Lucifer had learned years ago that his magic-numb brother simply didn’t worry about these things. Apparently if they were going to die in an elevator together, then that’s how they would die―but in the meantime, the elevator was far faster than taking the stairs, and Michael was an efficient man.

Lucifer watched the numbers over the door counting up. “Did your boy have a name?”

“I would say yes, if I had to guess,” Mike answered dryly.

“You know, for someone who never liked Cassy, you two sure have the same lousy sense of humor.” 

And that got the first smile out of his brother that he’d seen since the day Lucifer had come asking about the potion he and Dean had taken together. Michael had found that little ‘accident’ absolutely hilarious. Being compared to Castiel seemed only worthy of a small chuckle, but it was still pretty damn nice, and Lucifer was glad that he’d dragged himself out of his home for this.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say it a lot, but I also don't say it enough... you guys are amazing and I appreciate your support so, so, so very much <3  
> each story I do is such an experiment and it means so much that y'all are so willing to come along on these slow burning adventure.   
> This is yet again a full chapter where our main ship isn't even appearing together, but fear not, Dean will be making a glorious reappearance in the next chapter.

Something about summer months made things inside of Lucifer shift. He liked being warm, being able to shed his outermost formal layers, maybe even roll up his sleeves while out in public without feeling like he was underdressed. After all, as long as he still had on a tie with his button down shirt he’d look perfectly dressed for anything short of a full blown formal occasion―at least in comparison to the muppet of a teenager at his side. 

The teenager who kept reaching back for Lucifer like a lifeline, to touch his hand, or elbow, or hook a finger on one of his belt loops in these tiny worried gestures like Sam needed to constantly reassure himself that Lucifer was still there.

It would have been cute if Lucifer didn't know for a fact that he’d be doing the exact same thing if their situations were reversed. 

“Act like you’ve been here before,” Lucifer eased, not shaking off the kid like he knew he should, “half the things here can smell fear.”

“I  _ have _ been here,” Sam said, his throat making a dry clicking sound. “It was just different. Gabe was with me and there were less people, and… why do I smell blood?”

“Because that’s what vampires drink.” 

The whites in Sam’s eye flashed as he looked back.

During their long talks over the past week, Sam had explained how his and Dean’s parents were hunters. Real life, old school style monster hunters. Details hadn’t been shared exactly on whether or not Sam had ever lent a hand in the family business, but Lucifer had a sudden feeling that maybe he should have asked before they went on their little field trip. 

Caution had never been one of Lucifer’s strong suits though. 

So here they were.

“I did tell you that today’s lesson would be learning how to identify magic being used on you. Best way to do that is to get you in a room with people who can do that.” Lucifer let Sam step fully into his space, ratty sneakers practically on his toes, and protectively, he pulled an arm around the kid’s chest. “Long distance identification is pretty damn impossible.”

“But… they’re vampires.”

“Some of them are. It’s perfectly safe. Everyone here knows to be on their best behaviour.”

Sam stayed there with his back to Lucifer’s chest, watching the room, and slowly, oh so very slowly, his shoulders relaxed. “This is stupidly dangerous.”

“I promise you it’s not.” And if they weren't standing in his brother’s club, then Lucifer wouldn’t have felt comfortable making such an outrageous promise. But most of the BlackRabbit’s patrons were regulars. They knew the rules and they knew what would happen if they broke the rules. And more than that, most of them knew Lucifer on sight. No one would be trying to pick up Sam as a little midnight snack as long as he stayed close.

Sam apparently didn’t quite understand the very logical and valid reason for the closeness. He looked back to Lucifer, touching his wrist on one sweaty teenage hand, and said, “Gabriel thinks this is a date.” 

“Yes, well, my brother is a jealous little gremlin who never learned to share.”

“Is it a date?”

This was why Lucifer hated teenagers. He dropped his protective hold on the kid, but didn’t step away. “This is absolutely not a date. This is a lesson.”

“Then get to teaching it, and let’s get out of here,” Sam said, and for a moment it could have been Dean standing there on Lucifer’s toes, that same cockiness, that same determination, that same arrogance, like it was all hard wired into those Winchester genes.

“I think you might actually be worse than your brother,” Lucifer sighed, finishing that thought out loud, before stepping around Sam and motioning for the kid to follow. “First thing first, we talk to one of the lovely waitresses.”

“I’m not technically old enough to drink,” Sam announced as he kept pace, practically walking on Lucifer’s feet.

“I’d asky why Gabriel hasn’t set you up with a fake ID yet, but you’d have a hard time passing for fifteen, much less twenty-one,” Lucifer sighed and sidled up to a standing table. 

Sam came to stand beside him, just as close as he’d been since they came down the stairs, but now it came with bonus teenage pouting that was probably supposed to be very intimidating.

Thankfully, one of those pretty little golden eyed waitresses joined them, saving Lucifer from the temptation of further teasing. She set a drink in front of Lucifer and then turned a dimpled smile on the younger man. “You’re new.”

“I’ve been here before, with my, um… with Gabriel,” Sam stumbled over the words like he’d never once spoken to a woman in his life. 

“Essme?” Lucifer said the name with confidence that was all in his tone and not at all in his gut.

She turned her grin on him, all genuine and twice as lovely as before. “Yes, Boss Junior?”

“This anaconda with legs beside me is my little padawan,” Lucifer put a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder, “and tonight he’s learning about recognising magic, and I’d be very grateful if you’d tell him what it is that he wants to drink.”

Sam frowned, but Essme looked delighted.

“You know that these vamps all come in as a group,” the fey rested her elbows on the table top, steepling her very long fingers beneath her chin as her eyes flashed up at Sam, “and they only ever want one thing to drink. I’d love to tell you what you’re in the mood for. It’ll help spice up my night.”

Lucifer pulled out a couple dollar bills and slapped them down on the table beside Sam, to get the kid’s attention. “Alright, little baby hunter, you look this woman in her big beautiful eyes, and you agree on a price up front.”

“O-ok,” Sam awkwardly took the cash and passed it over to Essme, and only jumped a little when she took the bills, and then his hand. 

“She’s gonna do a little magic,” Lucifer explained. “The fair folk have always had a way of seeing the deepest desires that hide in the hearts of us mortals.”

Sam’s eyes went wide again, but he didn’t try to pull away―so he got double points for bravery.

“Deepest desires, sure,” Essme scoffed, “but you gave me ten bucks, so… it looks like you’re getting a chocolate milk. I’ll be right back.”

“Chocolate milk?” Lucifer asked with a laugh as Essme left them to fetch the deepest desire of Sam’s heart.

“I mean,” Sam looked up through his hair, smiling awkwardly, “it does sound really good right now.”

“That’s how it works.” Lucifer reached over and took Sam’s hand in his, holding it just like Essme had. “She’s not full-blooded fey, I think, so her magic isn’t going to be fucking flawless like you get with some old world monsters. Which means you might or might not have felt something when she read you. Maybe a prickle on the back of your neck, or a bit of a hum of electricity, or just a little slither in your stomach. Different people feel it in different ways, and I don’t know how your insides work.”

“I-I don’t think I felt anything,” Sam managed to sound both embarrassed and irritated.

“That’s why we practice.”

“Couldn’t we have practiced this at home?”

Not if Lucifer desperately needed a drink after a long day of sleeping in and tossing and turning his way through horrible dreams. 

“Almost never in life are you going to find yourself sitting peacefully at home, with zero distractions, and needing to feel the subtle creep of magic. We practice this shit under adverse conditions only,” Lucifer explained and emptied half his glass with a hearty swallow.

Sam frowned down at his hands until his drink arrived, but he didn’t pick up the heavy scotch dram filled to the rim with chocolate milk. He reached across the table and took Essme’s hands before she could turn away.

“Can you do it again?” He asked with far too much intensity for such a scrawny fella. 

“Boss Junior?” Essme looked past Sam with a husky laugh, “Where do you find these men?”

Lucifer accepted the nicknames because he knew that to the staff of the BlackRabbit: all the William’s boys were Boss-something-or-other. What he did mind was that Essme eagerly settled in to read Sam a second time, and the dumbass kid didn’t even offer her payment up front. There was only one big rule when dealing with the fae, and Lucifer had apparently wasted his breath in sharing it with Sam.

The lesson had to be learned one way or another though, and Lucifer was fine to nurse his drink and watch it all play out.

But, after nearly five minutes of Essme indulging all of Sam’s earnest questions ( _ What’s my favorite color? What’s my favorite animal? What should I have for dinner tonight? What blah blah blah… _ ) Lucifer had to intervene. 

“Enough,” he said, slapping their hands apart. “Sam, you’re making too many promises that you can’t cash. I’m cutting you off.”

Essme’s grin was less friendly and more teeth. “It’s fine. I don’t mind him just owing me a favor or two as payment.”

Whatever indignant huffing and puffing Sam had done at having his hands slapped got cut off with a sudden nervous expression. “What do you mean?” He asked, his voice pitched a little higher than normal. 

“Nothing is free, kid,” Essme’s eyes were slitted, pleased, narrow glimmers of gold beneath her dark lashes, “especially not information. Don’t worry though. We have rules. The cost has to be equal to the gift, no more and no less.”

Sam shifted closer to Lucifer, back to where he’d been when they first entered the club, with his sweaty teenage hand brushing against Lucifer’s. “A-alright? Um… twenty bucks?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. That’s ok. I’ll just collect a favor from you later.” Scooping up her tray and Lucifer’s long since empty cup, she winked at Sam and sauntered off into the crowd. 

“What happened?” Sam hissed, his eyebrows all but vanishing beneath the mess of hair falling into his face. 

“You asked a favor of a fairy,” Lucifer explained, “and you didn’t agree on a price up front like I told you to. Technically she’s within her right to ask you for whatever she wants, as long as the value doesn’t outweigh what she gave you.”

Sam looked objectively horrified.

“Putting that aside for later, though,” Lucifer leaned on his elbows to put his face closer to the kid’s, “were you able to feel anything when she read you?”

Rubbing his palms together like he was standing at a sink, Sam nodded slowly as a wry smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “Yeah. I think I did.” He glanced over and his whole body tensed. “Your nose―”

Lucifer frowned and that little twist of his mouth made him suddenly very aware of a wet feeling on his upper lip. He touched his face and his fingers came away red. Grunting in disgust, he stole the napkin from under Sam’s drink and pressed it to his bleeding nose. 

“Are you...” Sam looked almost frantic, his wide eyes darting around the club. “We need to go.”

The sudden fear on the kid’s face was almost comical, and it took a few moments for Lucifer to catch up with the unexpected concern. “Because I’m bleeding in sight of a couple vampires?” And he cuckold as Sam nodded far too fast. “Wow. Alright. A little racist, Sam. I don’t know about where you come from, but out here we have civilised monsters. Civilised and well fed. They can’t smell my blood past their drinks, and I don’t know anyone, regardless of how hungry they are, who would get excited at a bloody nose.”

Sam’s hands were twisting the bottom of his t-shirt, and it was clear that he wasn’t buying it. 

“It’s fine,” Lucifer promised, smiling faintly from behind his hand. 

It actually wasn’t fine, but not for the reasons that Sam seemed to think.

Lucifer could taste blood in the back of his mouth and he knew this feeling all too well, though it had been a long time since it had last snuck up on him. His only hope was that it wouldn’t get much worse, because the further it went the harder time he’d have playing it off. 

“What is… what is this?” Sam reached out and hesitantly touched Lucifer’s forearm, and pulled his hand back twice as fast. “You didn’t have a bruise like two minutes ago.”

Sighing, more in irritation than anything else, Lucifer twisted his arm to look at the unmistakable red hand print wrapped around his wrist. 

“Is there a ghost?” Sam asked so very innocently and stupidly.

“No,” and for not the first time, Lucifer regretted his promise to answer all of the kid’s questions. “No, it’s not a ghost. Some types of magic, if you use them on other people, leaves bits of yourself behind. I’ve got a brother who I helped heal up too many times when we were kids, and since then whenever he gets really hurt I end up feeling it too.” 

For years it was actually the only way that Lucifer was certain that Castiel was even still alive. Fresh bruises and phantom pains, to tell him that somewhere out there, wherever his little brother had run off to, Cassy was getting up to trouble. 

“We can heal people?” Sam asked with a hint of awe. 

“I can. You can’t. It comes from the angel side of my family, and you don’t have one of those.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “Oh… I mean, that’s cool. I probably wouldn’t want to do it anyways because,” he wobbled a hand in the direction of Lucifer’s face. 

“Ah, well, the backlash isn’t normal,” he confessed, pulling the damp napkin from his nose and frowning at it. “I’m just shitty at healing. Which is why I don’t do it anymore.”

And that was a small white lie, but unless Sam specifically asked when Lucifer had last tried to heal someone, or who that someone was, then Lucifer had zero plans to volunteer the information. He didn’t want to explain than the pain he was feeling was only optimistically being cast off by Castiel, because in all actuality it could be coming from Dean, and that was a bad thought that Lucifer wanted to give strength to by saying out loud. 

Castiel could handle himself.

Dean though? It could go either way. 

Needing a small distraction from the pain slowly creeping into his new injuries, Lucifer cleared his throat and nodded out at the rest of the room. “Go ahead and pick your next study buddy. Preferably not another fairy.”

And that’s how their night went. With Sam awkwardly explaining that he was having a ‘magic’ lesson to so many complete strangers who were out just trying to enjoy their night. Some people went along with it and laughed and held Sam’s hands and helped the kid out―and the majority of people just laughed and walked away. 

It all would have been more entertaining to Lucifer if he wasn’t so distracted by the slowly growing catalog of bruises blooming across his skin. In the end he simply rolled down his sleeves to cover what looked to mostly be defensive wounds. 

It had to be coming from Cassy and not Dean, if only because there wasnt’ fuck all that Lucifer would be able to do if it was Dean out there somewhere getting roughed up.

Not that he could do much for Castiel either. 

Castiel was the strong independent type who somehow managed to be worse at accepting help than Lucifer. So, unless those phantom-injuries very suddenly got very bad, it would be best to simply look the other way, and Lucifer could only try to stamp out his concern and trust that his brother was handling whatever trouble he’d found. 

**____________________________**

“I can’t do it,” Sam groaned, going so far as to kick his heels against the pavement like that somehow could get him out of today’s lesson.

“What was the one rule we agreed to at the start of this?” Lucifer calmly reminded, tilting his head towards the kid beside him, “You don’t get to say no.”

“This isn’t a ‘ _ no I don’t want to’ _ ,” Sam wrinkled his nose, “this is a ‘ _ I physically can’t do this’ _ , you jerk.”

“You can,” he insisted, folding his hands over his stomach and sinking comfortably low on the park bench they shared. “You’ve got more than enough fire in you to do this, you just need to learn how to focus.”

“I am focusing!”

“No. You’re whining.” Lucifer kicked one foot out, pegging the kid right in the ankles. “So, shut your mouth for five minutes and try to focus.”

Quiet murder simmered behind Sam’s eyes, but he eventually looked back out at the jogging path that crossed infront of them. Central Park had an ample supply of targets (or as Sam liked to call them  _ ‘people’ _ ) to pick from, all the kid needed to do was pick one and concentrate on what he was trying to do.

With no way to actually tell what was going on inside the kid, all Lucifer could do was sit there and watch Sam squinting his hardest at everyone who got close enough. 

A few people glanced their way, and walked on a little faster. 

Soon enough Sam was throwing his head back and grumbling at the sky.

“You just need to―”

“Swear to god, if you tell me one more time to focus I’m going to hit you,” Sam hissed out of the corner of his mouth. 

The strong desire to smack the kid upside the head was a big reason why Lucifer didn’t think he was cut out for this teaching business. 

Sam pushed his hands over his eyes and let out an angry sigh before finally saying, “I know you think I’ve got the Jedi mind powers needed for this, but I’m not that strong. I’m not Dean. Ok? I’ve got to talk to people to push on them and no amount of  _ focus _ ,” he wiggled his fingers, “is going to change that.”

Lucifer blinked and started rolling that odd statement around in his mind to try and parse together what the kid could have meant. 

Apparently Sam misunderstood the other man’s lack of response though, as a self conscious look took over and he pulled one knee up to his chest. “I know that’s why I’m here. Because Dean quit and you need someone else to help you with whatever he was helping you do, but he’s… he’s stupid strong, right, and I’m just not. So, all of this is a huge waste of your time.” 

Slowly and curiously, Lucifer turned to sit sideways on the bench, giving Sam his full attention. 

“I-I mean,” Sam squirmed, not quite meeting Lucifer’s eye, “I  _ am _ trying. Like, legit trying, this just isn’t something I can do. Maybe one day though? We keep practicing easier things and… can you blink or something? You’re starting to freak me out.”

Lucifer obliged, blinking slowly, but not letting his gaze waver because apparently uncomfortable Sam rambled. He rambled a lot. And Lucifer had never been the sort of man to turn down free information. 

“See,” Sam hunched his shoulders, angling away from Lucifer, “Gabe keeps telling me not to be scared of you, but… ugh. You’re just… come on. You’re creepy and you know it. I didn’t mind at first taking Dean’s place. It felt kinda cool, you know, being treated like one of the adults, but maybe you’d be better off just talking to him next time he comes by, you guys can work it out, and he can have his job back, because I’m  _ really _ not cut out for this. Maybe in a few years I will be, but it feels like hitting a wall and focus isn’t going to get me over it. I’m not ready. Ok?”

“You think,” Lucifer paused, watching Sam continue his squirming like the kid had zero concept about minding his body language, “that I should talk to Dean next time he comes by.”

“It’s not like I don’t appreciate this,” Sam nodded to the space between them. “I like learning, and getting a chance to actually learn a bit about my own magic? It’s pretty awesome. It was something we never talked about in my family. But I think you’d be better off with someone-someone closer to your own level.”

“Someone like Dean?”

“Yes?” Sam answered with absolutely no certainty, inching his body away from Lucifer. “Does that break some sort of wizard and wizard’s apprentice code for me to even suggest it?”

Though playing the quiet, creepy type had always been one of Lucifer’s favorites, he couldn’t help but laugh. “ _ Wizard _ ?”

“A male-witch? A  _ mitch _ ?” Sam cringed fairly hard at his own words. “Like I said, we didn’t talk about it in my family. I don’t know the proper terms for… us.”

Lucifer tucked a fist up under his chin and watched the kid floundering. 

“I, uh, maybe I should just ask Dean if there’s a technical name,” Sam finally mumbled, ducking his head.

“Next time he comes by,” Lucifer suggested, and there was just so much going on in Sam’s word vomit that it was hard to decide on the most important bits. 

“Wednesday night, I think? Gabe and I can stall him for you, give you two a chance to talk,” Sam offered. “I’m sure you two can work it out though. It’s none of my business why he quit. But, he does ask about you, and it’s kinda obvious that he misses you… and that’s not me trying to get out of all these lessons, just,” he smiled hopefully, “you know, just some of them.”

Lucifer’s heart had jumped to his throat, and he had to swallow twice before he managed a semi-casual sounding, “He asks about me?”

It wasn’t casual enough, because Sam instantly perked up and latched on to that question. “Oh, he does. Back when you were sick for like a month? That’s all Dean wanted to talk about while he was over. He was trying to talk me and Gabe into bringing soup up to you and stuff, but Gabe said it was more of a magic exhaustion thing from your work and that you’d be pissed if we woke you up to give you soup.”

Was it good or bad that Dean had been worried about him?

Was it good or bad that it sounded like Dean visited with some regularity?

Yes, it meant Dean was ok.

But, it also meant that Dean was deliberately avoiding Lucifer.

And that fact hurt like a son of a bitch. 

Lucifer suddenly wanted to go back to his apartment, crawl into bed, and decompose. He’d fucked up so much worse than he’d thought. 

“You know,” he tamped down those twisting, awful feelings and offered Sam a smile that couldn’t have looked right, “I’m not letting you out of your lessons that easily. Dean didn’t work ‘with’ me. He was just a bodyguard, and I was done being guarded, so I sent him on to the next job.” 

Sam’s eyebrows went into some interesting gymnastics as the kid struggled to digest that bit of information. Eventually he settled on a soft, “Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Now that you’ve had a little break and done your best to try and distract me,” Lucifer made a hard U-turn, needing to retreat from the topic they’d stumbled into before he let himself sink too deep. “I want you to try again.”

Sam looked defeated. “I  _ can’t _ . Come on. You’ve seen me sucking at this for almost an hour now.”

“That’s why we’re going to shift to easy baby mode for you.”

“Gee, thanks?” 

Lucifer offered a benevolent smile. “You’re welcome.” He let his arm hook over the back of the bench as he slid down the bench to sit against Sam’s side. “So, I know you think you need to talk to people directly to push on them, but you don’t. I swear that you don’t, not with the kind of heat your packing. But you think you need to talk, because that’s how you’ve always done it. So, how about we meet in the middle?”

Sam looked both hopeful and suspicious. 

Lucifer laid out the change in rules, “You stay here with me, you pick out someone out there, and you call them over just like you’ve been trying to do, but I’ll let you whisper. Not loud enough for them to hear, but loud enough for you to hear.” 

The lack of confidence in the kid was obvious, but he squared those narrow little shoulders and begrudgingly agreed to try again. 

And that was all that Lucifer was asking him to do.

**____________________________**

They had a pretty solid schedule worked out after a couple weeks. After lunch Sam would come up to the apartment and lightly protest and complain to nearly everything that Lucifer tried to get him to do, and then the kid would take off before dinner.

After nearly a month of that fixed class time between them, Lucifer found himself startled awake in the early hours by his door opening to a very lanky teenage boy with two Starbucks cups in hand and a charmingly dimpled smile. 

Lucifer eased his hand away from the gun on his nightstand and frowned at Sam. “You steal Gabriel’s key?”

With a sheepish expression, Sam shook his head. “I-uh, I picked the lock. I didn’t think I’d wake you up. Sorry.”

Choosing to set aside that huge overstepping of personal space, Lucifer sat up and held a hand out. “Is one of those for me?”

Sam grinned, dimples and everything, and he wasn’t half as cute as he thought he was―not that early in the morning he wasn’t.

Lucifer was handed a coffee and he was more than content to simply sit in bed and stare out the window for roughly five minutes, until he’d made a notable dent in his drink, and he felt at least remotely functional.

The fact that Sam let him wake up slowly, on his own terms, meant that this visit wasn’t about anything super important. Which should have been nice, except ‘important’ was the only reason that Lucifer was willing to accept for the unwelcome wakeup call. 

He set his coffee beside his gun, and turned to look at the kid who was lurking near the couch who was watching him like a nervous cat.

“Alright, Samuel,” Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, “why, on god’s green earth, did I just watch the sunrise?” 

Sam hadn’t had a single sip from his own cup, but he’d sure managed to dent up the lid with his thumbnail. He looked Lu in the eye for nearly a full second, then his eyes darted away and he softly admitted, “I'm still trying to think of a cool, sexy way to say this.”

“Give me the basic idea,” Lucifer said with a sigh, picking back up his own drink. It was going to be one of  _ those _ days. “We can workshop it.”

Sam took a deep breath and blurted, “I want to have sex with you.”

It was Lucifer’s own fault for trying to enjoy another sip of breakfast, because he heard those words and suddenly all that nice lovely hot coffee was forced from his mouth to his windpipe and for nearly a minute straight all he could do was cough painfully. 

“I mean… that wasn’t really the reaction I was hoping for,” the kid admitted, coming over to thump Lucifer on the back with the flat of one hand. “You ok?”

“No?” He managed to force past the raw feeling in his throat. “Stop…  _ stop _ ,” Lucifer slid up his mattress, away from the helping hands, putting a little room between himself and the kid who had sat down beside him at some point. 

Sam, the little son of a bitch, slid after Lucifer. “I know t-that you’re a whole lot older than me, but―”

“Absolutely not, for about a hundred reasons,” Lucifer said in as clear and clean a voice as he could manage, “the most important of which being that you and Gabriel are in love.”

“We aren’t,” Sam insisted, but whatever ‘come hither’ look he’d been going for was crumbling far too quickly, and his voice had gone soft and wounded as he said, “We… we broke up this morning.”

“Oh,” Lucifer wasn’t really sure what else to say to that other than, “my answer is still hell no, for even more reasons now, but, uh, I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

And he already was gearing up for what promised to be a terrible conversation with his little brother who had been madly in love with Sam since pretty much the first day they met. Something must have happened, and knowing how the men in his family worked, it was something undoubtably stupid. 

But trying to place bets with himself over what asinine thing had happened between Gabe and Sam would have to wait, because the boy on his bed had taken his kicked puppy expression from a three to a ten real quick, and it was too damn early to deal with tears.

Before he could even try to gently kick the kid out though, Sam was taking a shaking breath and then the words all came spilling out of him like this story had been the real reason to bring him up to Lucifer’s place that morning. 

“It’s just, the last few times that Dean’s come over it’s felt like he was trying to get Gabe alone, and he keeps talking to me about how New York really isn’t the place for me, like he’s trying to get rid of me. And then- then his morning I was going to go on a run out in Central Park, which is freakishly huge by the way, so the fact that I saw him and Gabe together has got to be like the universe’s way of showing me just what the hell is really going on.”

Though it felt like there was a lot more to follow, Lucifer felt like he could see where this was going, and he was already calling bullshit.

Sam was staring long and hard at the blankets bunched up between them, his voice so small. “And Gabe lied about it. He told me he’d come straight from his place this morning, but I saw him―I fucking saw him walking with my brother, sharing a doughnut, on a happy little date, and he still denies it! And then he’s got the nerve to tell me he thinks maybe we’re rushing things, maybe him and me need to take a break, maybe I should consider going back home for a while to clear my head. And then―”

Lucifer put a finger over Sam’s mouth. “Stop. Breathe,” he ordered, sliding his hand around to the kid’s back. “Deep breaths. There you go.”

Poor Sam managed roughly two whole ‘deep breaths’ before they caught in his throat and all that managed to sneak out was a stifled sob. 

“Shit,” Lucifer wasn’t good at this kind of thing. “Do you hug in your family?” He asked, waiting for the smallest nod from the kid before pulling him into his arms and just holding him for lack of better options. 

Gabriel had three separate apartments to stay in, depending on which of his older siblings was taking a turn babysitting him, or at least that’s the arrangement they’d used for his last two years of school. Naturally this all meant that when the time came for Lucifer to track down his brother, it wasn’t until the third apartment that he finally found the little gremlin. Surprisingly or not, it was Gabe’s place that was closest to their sister Elle, which also made it the one that was furthest from Sam. 

No one was interested in making Lucifer’s day any easier, apparently. 

He didn’t bother knocking, feeling like the blasting music from inside was invitation enough. If Gabe wanted to be left alone he shouldn’t have been playing The Smith’s at such an offensive volume. 

Not that Lucifer needed additional evidence that all was not right in the world of Gabriel, the usually tidy apartment looked like a tornado had recently been through. Kitchen cabinets were open, and every plate, bowel, and cup looked to have been thrown to the floor, leaving a minefield of shattered ceramic and glass. Lucifer stepped cautiously through the chaos, wincing at every brittle crunch he felt under his shoes as he made his way to the living room and the livingroom and the obscenely loud record player.

Lifting the needle cut Morrissey off mid lament and flooded the space in whitenoise.

Lucifer sighed in relief and called out, “Gabe? You dead?”

“I wish,” the pitiful answer came from the bedroom. 

It wasn’t hard to find Gabriel. The pitiful lump of teenage angst was laying face down on the bed with his legs trailing on the floor like he’d simply given up and collapsed halfway into getting himself to bed. 

Lucifer leaned in the doorway, folding his arms and stealing himself. “Hey, I’m going to need you to explain just why the hell your Sam showed up at my place this morning looking for some hot revenge sex.”

Gabriel lifted his head, his expression dark. “You didn’t.”

“Answer the question, Gabe.”

“You answer mine first,” he demanded as he sat up, narrowing his eyes and managing to look ever so slightly menacing. 

“I asked first, you little gremlin. Sam’s a sweet kid,” an irritating and argumentative one for sure, but during their month of lessons Lucifer had grown a little attached to the jerk and he felt irrationally protective. “Why the hell are you lying to him, telling him there’s something going on between you and Dean?”

Most days Gabriel was great at lying, but also most days he hadn’t just broken up with his boyfriend. Where there would usually be sarcasm and joking, there was only a sharp sniffle as Gabe raked his hands through his hair and looked away. He mumbled something, his shoulders hitching in a half hearted shrug. 

“A little louder for the people in the back?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe raised his voice, but didn’t break eye contact with the stuffed frog beside his pillow. 

“Bull. Shit.”

“I-I wanted to break up. He didn’t. So I lied a little,” Gabe shrugged, only one shoulder this time. “It doesn’t matter. Ok? If it gets him out of here then great.”

“Great?” Lucifer had some strong doubts about that. From where he stood his baby brother was looking anything other than ‘great’. 

“My relationships aren’t your business, Lu. Just go away.”

“They become my business the instant your boyfriend gets in my bed,” and Lucifer could have chosen more gentle words, but he’d used up all his gentle words during the two hours he’d let Sam cry on his shoulder that morning. 

“Don’t even joke about it,” Gabriel warned, glowering up from under his hair.

“What does it matter to you? Apparently you traded him in for his brother. Why do you care what Sam’s doing now, or who’s doing it to him?”

Gabe’s cheeks turned red, so much anger in such a tiny brother. “I love him, so fuck you, you miserable bastard.”

Lucifer slowly started tapping the toe of one shoe, perfectly willing to wait for his brother to crack.

It didn’t take that long.

After less than a minute of heavy glairing, Gabriel flung himself back onto the bed and made a horrible sound somewhere between frustration and a sob. “I told him the truth,” he whined, kicking his feet. “We argued for a whole hour, I swear, but he didn’t want to believe me. He somehow got it in his head that I wanted  _ Dean _ .” Gabe folded his arms over his face and made another wounded noise. “As if! In what bizarro world is anyone gonna’ pick the janky, busted up, lame-o, old brother, when they could have  _ Sam _ ?”

“Apparently you would.”

Gabriel missed a beat, not answering for almost too long before softly saying, “I wish I was dead.”

“No you don’t,” Lucifer sighed and entered the room, not emotionally ready to go in for round two, and not letting that slow him down. “Gabe. What did Dean tell you that scared you bad enough to break up with Sam?”

With a horrible look of fear and awe, Gabriel sat back up. “How did you know?”

Frankly, it was because Lucifer had listened to Sam’s sad stories, and was capable of connecting a few dots. But that answer would be boring. 

“I trained the pigeons to spy on you,” he offered, grabbing up one of the plush toys on the bed and resting it in his lap. It wasn’t as soft as it looked, the fur almost plasticy, the kind of texture you would expect from a cheap toy you’d win at a carnival. “Now are you going to talk willingly, or do I have to force it out of you?”

To emphasise his threat, he squeezed the toy frog between his hands and slowly started to twist it’s round little head in the opposite direction of the body. Lucifer wouldn’t actually decapitate the dumb thing, he wasn’t a complete monster, but he needed to make sure Gabe was paying attention.

“Don’t bring Lord Hoppington into this,” Gabriel reached out for the frog, “he’s an innocent bystander.”

“Talk,” Lucifer insisted, keeping a firm hold on the stuffed animal. 

Gabe kept his eyes fixed on his little plush friend. “Dean’s been trying for months to get rid of Sam and send him back home where it’s ‘safe’―like there’s anywhere safer than here with me. I wouldn’t let anyone or anything harm a hair on his perfect head.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re the human version of wet socks and no one likes you,” Gabriel sniped back like a reflex. “I might be the guard dog equivalent of a pomeranian, but I’d still fuck up anyone who tried to hurt Sam.”

“You’d get your little self killed in the process. You know that right? If anything big and bad came though you’d be little more than a speedbump.”

“You and Dean are both gunning for me today, and I’ve got to say I’m feeling a little attacked.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He called me a tater tot, and I’ve been called a lot of things, but that one kinda hurt, and―”

“We’re talking about your break up, not about your feelings, Gabe.” Lucifer hated this conversation even more than the one he’d had with Sam. He handed over the frog and waited while his baby brother checked the damn thing over.

Sighing softly as he crushed the stuffed animal to his stomach, Gabriel hesitantly started over. “I have to keep Sam safe. He doesn’t actually know about… about anything. He thinks Dad got all his money in the stock market. He’s the sweetest, most innocent, perfect guy in the world. But Dean, he’s mixed up in some big job, and if it goes wrong bad things are going to happen to Sam. That’s why Dean hasn’t talked to him in years. He’s been trying to keep him safe. I can’t let Sam… I can’t let him get hurt. He has to go.”

Gabriel was clearly an emotional mess, so maybe all the words he was saying were getting mixed up in translation ― but they didn’t sit right with Lucifer. 

Dean had been staying away from his family for years, for reasons that had never been Lucifer’s business enough to ask about.

However, Dean had also been staying away from Sam because of a job?

For years?

The man had been working for Benny up until that spring. 

What years?

When did Dean have time to do anything that took years?

What the hell job was he talking about? It had to be whatever Dean had mentioned in the letter he’d left for Benny, and no matter what the job was, it suddenly sounded shady as hell. Lucifer’s mind snagged on all those nights that he’d wake up to the soft sound of the apartment door closing as Dean snuck out for a ‘smoke’ even though he clearly didn’t smoke, and how it always took a good half hour for the man to creep back into the apartment. 

And when Lucifer had asked Mike to cut business ties, Dean had vanished like a puff of smoke. Off to a new job almost instantly. Or back to an old job that maybe he’d never actually left. 

Lucifer started to feel sick, and he was glad that the only thing in his stomach was half a cup of bad coffee. 

“You,” he took a careful breath, grateful that Gabe was so caught up in his own problems to take notice of the awkward silence, “you didn’t have to break up with Sam. You could have… you could have just left with him.”

Gabriel snorted and it held none of his usual joy. “Yeah? That’s your advice? Because last time you tried to leave someone paid your boyfriend to shoot you.”

Lucifer flinched and touched a hand to his side, feeling the small scar through his shirt. He hated to say it, but he still said it, “The rules for me are different. I’ve got a lot of responsibilities to the family. It would fuck up a lot of stuff if I just took off.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re saying I’m not important?” He didn’t sound hurt, he sounded offended, and it usually took a whole hell of a lot to offend Gabriel. 

“I’m saying you're young,” Lucifer tried to sooth his brother, “you just graduated school, and it wouldn't be a lie if you told Dad that you wanted to travel with your boyfriend for a while. He’d probably give you a year or two off just to screw around. Time enough for whatever is going on to blow over.”

“You think so?”

“Has Dad ever told you no to anything you asked for?”

Hope struggled to take hold on Gabriel’s sweet little face. “Do you think Sam would take me back?”

“Well I’m sure as hell not taking him off your hands, so you two need to figure this out. I’m way too damn old to have an emotionally compromised teenage boy crying in my room. You’re coming with me back to my apartment and you’re going to talk to him. I’m done playing marriage counselor to you idiots.”

“He… he didn’t really cry though.”

Lucifer narrowed his gaze, giving his brother a long hard look. 

“Right?” Gabriel insisted, looking absolutely gutted. 

“Just come get him out of my apartment. You two are exhausting.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter time, and as promised-- we get Dean back <3
> 
> and before you get to the end of this chapter and silently curse me and my love of awful cliff hangers, the next chapter is already about half way done.  
> Huzzah   
> Thank you guys for your comments and kudos and ko-fi tips  
> y'all keep me going, and inspired, and well caffeinated, and I appreciate you all

The apartment had been cleaned, and despite Lucifer’s best attempts to patch up the mess that was his little brother’s love life, he might have to throw it all out the window and just go ahead and murder Sam. All of the notebooks and loose pages on the table had been sorted into two piles. Years worth of research taken out of its organised chaos and stacked up neat and tidy. The bed had been made. The piles of clothes were simply gone, which meant that as soon as Lucifer found out where they’d been put he’d have to resort them into their piles. Empty takeout boxes were missing. Coffee mugs sat drying beside the sink. 

It was an actual nightmare. 

And in the middle of it all was Sam, perched nervously on the edge of the couch, with about three dozen potion and charm envelopes and pouches (what looked to be every sample from the family business that Lucifer had been collecting over the past year) spread out across the coffee table like he was using them to play solitaire. 

“I-I got nervous waiting,” Sam mumbled in place of an apology and the kid had the decency to look embarrassed, which was the only thing that saved him from being dragged out by his neck. 

“You need to leave,” Lucifer said pointedly, gesturing to the door. 

Sam deliberately ignored the demand, asking, “Did you talk to Gabe?”

“You go talk to him yourself. He’s waiting at your place,” Lucifer was getting a massive headache from all the stupid, “and if you ever clean my apartment again I will rips your arms off and beat you with them.”

Uncertainty flitted over the boy’s face, like he didn’t know if he should believe the threat or not. 

“Go talk to him yourself,” Lucifer said a little louder, stalking to the couch and taking Sam by the wrist to pull him to his feet. “I know he’s an idiot, but I also know he loves you. He’d die before he’d risk hurting you.”

And good god, but that sounded like a line from one of Michael’s trashy romance novels. 

Disgusting. 

“You really don’t think he’s with Dean?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“I know he’s not.” Lucifer released his hold on Sam in favor of pushing him towards the door. “Now go, because I’m all out of fucks to give over this, and you’re on your own. Use your big kid words. Listen to each other. Have hot make up sex. Don’t tell me about it. Run away from home together and never look back.”

Sam’s eyes grew wider with each addition to this to-do list. 

“Or don’t,” Lucifer shrugged. “But get out so I can put my things back where they belong before I lose it.”

“W-what about angry sex and then maybe talking after?”

“You mean with Gabriel, right?”

Sam blinked and laughed. “Well, yeah? Who else?”

“Just making sure we were on the same page, kid.” Part of Lucifer really missed being as young, impulsive, vibrant, and clearly forgetful as only a teenager could be. “Go for it, Sam. No hard set rules on making up with your boyfriend. Just do what feels right.”

“A-alright,” Sam said with a laugh, and with a little bounce he threw his arms around Lucifer in a tight hug. “Thank you for… you know.” For the first time since he’d broken into the apartment that morning, Sam grinned. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t make this a regular thing,” Lucifer grumbled, giving the kid’s shoulders a squeeze before pushing him off towards the door. 

Sam nearly made it all the way out into the hall before digging his heels in and turning back. “Hey, um, some guy dropped off some spell stuff for you. They’re the pile to the―the left,” he pointed at the mess on the coffee table. 

“Some guy?”

“No one I recognised,” Sam clarified. “He was just some delivery guy.”

It wasn’t really that odd. Lucifer had been snooping around for so long, he’d amassed quite a few snitches and accomplices where family matters were concerned. But, it was something to poke at later, once he got the apartment back in order. Even though he’d been flatly told to stop poking around, his natural curiosity would always get the better of him.

With a little more encouragement, Lucifer managed to finally get Sam out the door, hopefully to reconcile with Gabriel for the next day or two―because it was going to take at least that long for the apartment to be functional again. 

He wasn’t given that long though. 

Not by half.

He had maybe an hour to himself, and he barely managed to unmake the bed and reclaim two of his previous clothes piles (things that needed mending or tailoring, and things that would look better on Michael), before Sam was back and pounding on the door.

“Lu! Lucifer!” The kid’s voice was high and frantic as the banging continued. “Open up! Fucking open up! Please!”

It clearly wasn’t a social call. 

Lucifer sprinted across the apartment only to find his gangly student on the other side of the door, wide eyed and shaking, with his arms full of a bleeding and unmoving Gabriel.

“Help him!” Sam demanded, offering no explanation for what had happened. “Please, please, please. I couldn’t call an ambulance. There’s no phones. I didn’t know what to do. Help him.”

“Put him down and tell me what the hell happened,” Lucifer demanded. Panic gripped his chest nearly too tight to breathe. But with panic came adrenalin, and it kept Lucifer moving. 

Sam carried his injured bundle to the couch.

Lucifer kicked the door closed and followed.

Gabriel made wheezing, wet sounds.

“W-we were having a drink,” Sam tried to explain, wringing his bloodied hands, and not actually explaining anything at all.

“Was he talking? Was he lucid?” Lucifer knelt by his brother’s side, nudging Sam out of the way so he could get a clear look at the damage. 

Most of the blood came from Gabriel’s mouth. Deep red smears from his nose to his throat. His eyes were slitted and unfocused. With a rough cough, little red bubbles formed at the corners of his lips. 

Sam gave some sort of answer, but Lucifer had stopped listening. 

This wasn’t the sort of problem that his first-aid kit could fix.

Closing his eyes, Lucifer smoothed a hand down his brother’s face, fingers curling to fit gently around his scrawny neck. 

Gabriel was an unfamiliar landscape for Lucifer’s magic. The fact that they both heard ‘angel radio’ had always felt like reason enough to avoid using spells on one another. Anything at all to not make it worse. Gabe had received a disgusting amount of ‘heaven’ in his genetics, and to combat that: he kept a disgusting amount of lithium running through his system. The kid didn’t need extra magic rolling around in him, running the risk of encouraging his own suppressed magic to  _ wake up _ .

But, Lucifer thought that Gabriel might forgive him this one.

He followed the pain beneath his brother’s skin, pressing the palm of his hand over the shallow rise and fall of Gabe’s chest, settling over his stomach. Something was there. Something bitter and sharp, like the taste of lightning in the air. Lightning and blood. Whatever was inside of Gabriel was tearing him up.

His narrow little body shuddered.

Blood dripped from the curve of his ear onto the couch. 

There was one very good reason that Lucifer refused to teach anyone how to heal-- and it was simply because he felt like an idiot every time he did it. It wasn’t graceful magic that he’d refined through years of practice. It was magic that he’d taught himself around the same time he learned to tie his shoes, and it hadn’t really changed since then. Mostly he just touched the injury and pleaded ‘ _ please be ok, please be ok, please be ok _ ’ like a prayer, until he felt the warmth of the blessing flow from himself and into the other person. 

But it didn’t heal up quickly like a normal wound, whatever was inside of Gabe wasn’t as simple as a bullet hole. The injury felt sticky, like it didn’t want to leave, like a plant that had already dug in impossibly deep roots. 

Seconds passed in a way that felt like hours, and what had started out as panic inside of Lucifer began shifting into real fear. 

And then Gabe was arching up off the couch, gasping and sputtering and frantically grabbing at his big brother’s arms. 

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief, pulling Gabriel against his chest and pressing his face into that long mess of hair. “Welcome back, kiddo.”

Gabriel panted and looked frantically around the room like he was struggling to get his bearings.

Sam crowded them, his right as Gabe’s boyfriend, making the hug into an unpleasantly warm, three man affair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

And even though Lucifer liked to think that the kid was apologising for causing there to be blood on the couch and the general disruption to the whole day, Lucifer could tell that the words weren’t directed at him. Still holding his brother, maybe a little tighter than necessary, Lucifer pulled away from Sam and demanded, “What happened?”

His answer was a guilty silence.

Lucifer peeled Gabriel off his chest and held him at arm’s length, trying not to get distracted by the tacky blood still covering half of his face. “What happened?”

Gabe had to clear his throat twice before managing to say, “I-I don’t know?” He shook his head and made a face, clearly confused. “We were talking? Right, Sam?”

But Sam didn’t answer right away, and Sam wouldn’t look at either of them. Instead, he took from a pocket a small crumpled envelope hardly big enough to hold a business card, and held it out to Lucifer. 

“I, um, I snooped,” Sam confessed in a horse whisper. “The stuff that got dropped off today… I figured you wouldn’t notice if I just took one.”

Though the kid was using the word ‘snooped’ Lucifer was pretty damn sure what he’d meant was ‘stole’. 

“You,” Lucifer took a deep breath, trying and failing to calm himself, “you drugged my brother?”

“No!” Sam looked up with the widest eyes. “I took it for  _ myself _ . The note that came with them made it sound like it would help with-with grief. And then Gabe and I started talking, and then we started arguing, and I remembered it was in my pocket, and I-I-I just split it between our drinks,” the words caught in his throat and he put a hand over his mouth. When he finally spoke again it came out in a horrified whisper, “I’m so sorry, Gabe.”

Lucifer reached out and smacked the idiot kid about as hard as he could, but he kept an open hand, and aimed away from anything breakable like his face. “Pretending for just a fucking minute that we’re going to ignore the fact that you stole from me―you don’t put mystery drugs in someone else’s drink, especially without telling them, especially not if they’re my brother, and  _ especially _ not when they’re your boyfriend. Fucking Christ, your mother should have swallowed you, Sam. You’re a goddamned mistake.”

Gabriel hit Lucifer smack in the center of his chest, with one knuckle crooked out, promising to leave all sorts of a bruise for later. “You watch your mouth,” he warned, glaring even though he couldn’t be intimidating if he had weeks to practice, “that is the love of my life you’re talking to.”

“He almost killed you,” Lucifer insisted, rubbing at his chest. “He  _ would have _ killed you if I hadn’t been home. Fuck me, Gabe. Are you paying any attention here? This is serious.”

“I am serious,” Gabriel squared his shoulders, “you don’t talk to him like that, and you don’t hit him… or I’ll take a pair of scissors into your closet, I swear I will. Now apologize.”

Lucifer stood, dumping his lap full of baby brother to the floor unceremoniously.

With a small pained sound, Gabriel rubbed his boney little ass. “Or don’t. Geez, Lu. You could’ve just said I’d gone too far.”

Irritated, and far more stressed now than he’d been at the start of this awful day, Lucifer took the little envelope from Sam, who was still sitting there useless and stunned. 

No writing on the bit of paper, nothing left inside except a film of light powder and the faint scent of almonds.

He tucked it into his pocket and looked back at Sam. “There was a note with this?”

Sheepishly, Sam leaned over the coffee table and its collection of charms and potions all mixed up in the worst way. He pulled out a little folded letter and handed it over, not quite making eye contact, looking like a kicked puppy and actually managing to make Lucifer feel a touch guilty.

Ignoring the feeling, he unfolded the note and read it over. Then read it over again, and again.

_ I know that broken hearts can take forever to heal, chere.  _

_ These might help. _

_ \- Benny _

It was a weird note.

Firstly, because it wasn’t in Benny’s handwriting. Second, because Benny never signed his name when he wrote Lucifer letters, preferring to end them with ‘your godfather’, because that’s what he technically was, and also because they’d been arguing for years if the book or the movie was better but since Lucifer couldn’t watch movies and Benny refused to read the book they’d remained at a standstill. 

He looked back to Sam (who’d sat down beside Gabe and was still wearing that sad puppy expression), and demanded, “You tell me everything you remember about the guy that dropped these off.”

**___________________**

The floor scraping under Lucifer’s feet had to have been linoleum, since the toes of his shoes were making a god awful squeaking sound as he was dragged along. Someone was holding him under either arm, none too gently.

“He’s  _ bleeding _ ,” an itchingly familiar voice noted, far away enough that Lucifer wasn’t positive what direction the words were coming from.

It was a struggle, but Lucifer managed to open his eyes. The effort wasn’t worth it. The only thing he could make out was blackness broken with odd pinpoints of yellowed light. Light that shifted nauseatingly as the world slid by somewhere beneath him. 

There was a bag over his head. 

Whatever half assed kidnapping attempt he was waking up to, they’d apparently put in a little extra effort. 

Lucifer could respect that. 

He’d make a point of killing them quickly. 

Only, his brain felt like scrambled eggs. Instead of pulling up the memory of any spell, all he managed to find was pain that covered almost every square inch of his body, and the realisation that someone had done a real number on him this time.

“The deal was that you’d bring him here in one piece,” that familiar voice said, a little closer than before, and possibly coming from somewhere up ahead.

“Yeah well, he didn’t wanna get in the car,” a man answered to Lucifer’s immediate left. 

Car?

Lucifer didn’t remember a car.

He didn’t remember anything, other than an angry conversation and a note burning in his pocket as he stormed out of his apartment.

“You’re gonna have to pay for repairs,” the person on Lucifer’s right grumbled. It was a woman and Lucifer almost wanted to congratulate her, because kidnapping people and being the ‘muscle’ used to haul around unconscious idiots were both jobs that were typically a bit of a boy’s club. So good on her for breaking gender norms. 

“You’ll get what we agreed on,” Mr. Familiar said,  _ so much _ closer now.

The dragging progress stopped, and Lucifer’s insides lurched like they weren't ready to stop their forward momentum. That nauseating feeling probably meant a decent head injury for Lucifer, which would actually explain a whole lot of what he was experiencing, and would be super fun to deal with later.

The woman under his arm made an irritated sound. “Yeah, well what we agreed on didn’t take into account the fact that he was going to break both back windows and tear up the upholstery.”

The little bits of light through the bag shifted again. Someone was standing directly in front of Lucifer. 

“You knew the risks when you agreed to pick him up.”

That voice, god damn it, Lucifer recognised that voice. It was there on the tip of his tongue, but so was the metallic taste of blood, and it was really impossible to come up with as much as two thoughts to rub together.

“Look,” the woman said in the same kind of clipped tone that an irritated mother might use, “where the hell is your boss? Because I’m sure as shit not negotiating with you, and I’m not passing this asshole off to you either.”

Great. 

Not only was Lucifer being kidnapped, but he got to be in the middle of negotiations. 

Negotiations with criminals never went well, especially not after the ‘job’ was already done.

Lucifer tried to tell the lady to just take her money and get out while she still could, but that’s around the time he realised that some intelligent person had slapped duct tape over his mouth. It was a smart move, but inconvenient as hell for Lucifer because it instantly limited what magic he’d be able to do once he got his mind to focus.

“I’m here,” a fourth voice said from somewhere behind them.

Unfortunately, Lucifer knew that voice too. 

He  _ really _ knew that voice, he recognised that voice, and dread settled into the pit of his stomach. 

“And I thought it was against police protocol to negotiate with criminals,” Gadreel said in that flat irritated tone he always seemed to have when he and Lucifer were in the same room together. 

The man under Lucifer’s arm chuckled, but the woman didn’t seem to find the situation as amusing. 

“We’re putting our jobs on the line for this,” she said with that mom voice still fully engaged. “You weren't exactly up front with who you were having us pick up. I think the extra risk deserves a little extra compensation. Seeing as this little job is suddenly becoming a family matter, it would be unfortunate if other people had to get involved.”

There were two beats of silence and then a gun went off far too close to Lucifer’s head. Through the ringing he could just make out the voice of the man beside him starting to swear, before there was a second shot and Lucifer hit the ground hard.

With nothing to soften the landing, and his hands tied behind his back, Lucifer took the full impact on his chin and chest. He’d bit down hard on his tongue, but the tape over his mouth kept him from spitting out the blood, and suddenly he was choking on it, feeling it pressing up into his nose and coating his throat, painful and thick. 

Lucifer was aware of the pained, keening sound coming from his chest, and he didn’t even bother to try and keep it to himself. Dignity be damned. 

He had a hard and fast rule of never being alone in a room with Gadreel. 

He’d never once considered how much worse it could be to find himself alone with Gadreel and Gadreel’s thugs. 

This was going to go very badly.

Rough hands were tugging on him, dragging him up to his knees, and the angle wasn’t any kinder, except maybe it was a touch easier to breathe. 

Somewhere amidst the ringing in his ears, Lucifer heard his brother say, “Open his shirt. I need to see his back,” and that was a strange thing to want. 

The back of Lucifer’s shirt was pulled, tugging oddly between his bound wrists. Cold metal brushed against the small of his back. There was a rip, a cut. Some absolute bastard was ruining one of Lucifer’s good shirts with a knife―and all he could do in his own defence was twist his wrists against the thick plastic zip ties until they were biting into his skin.

“Ah, there it is,” Gadreel said from much closer, footsteps slowly circling around Lucifer, near enough that if Lucifer could move his arms he’d be able to reach out and trip his brother. “You and your abomination of a brother really did carve each other up, didn’t you? At least it finally explains how you always manage to survive.”

A very long time ago Lucifer and Castiel had delved into some old world magic and decided they were clever enough to pull off some overly complicated blood rituals. Binding spells, things to keep each other safe, things to let them share whatever grace, whatever luck, or curses, or blessings they came across, a way to level out and split things between them for times when one of them needed a little extra help. 

Times like when his boyfriend Marcus decided to shoot him in the stomach at point blank range and miraculously miss all vital organs. 

Times like when someone poisoned Gabriel, who by all rights should have died considering that Lucifer was nowhere near good enough at healing to have saved him.

And, hopefully for times like whatever this was. 

Lucifer swallowed blood, turning his head side to side to try and follow the sounds of Gadreel’s pacing, wishing he could see a damn thing. 

The footsteps stopped in front of Lucifer, “It will take a few minutes for me to find the exact rites they used. In the meantime, you’re welcome to take a crack at him, if that’s an itch you need to scratch one last time.” 

Gadreel clearly wasn’t speaking to Lucifer, but whoever had split open Lucifer’s shirt, who was still uncomfortably close to his back, whose hand had been lingering against his side, with one calloused thumb notched against the still fresh bullet scar right above his belt. 

The realisation of what that offer might entail took a hard minute to catch up with Lucifer’s shaken, not stirred, brains and a fear he didn’t know he had suddenly came thundering to life inside of him. The pounding of his heartbeat suddenly deafening in his ears as horror and disgust at away at everything else. Unfortunately, with the position he was in, Lucifer didn’t have much of any way to protest other than to squirm. 

And he wasn’t going to squirm.

He wouldn’t risk giving anyone that level of satisfaction.

“Nah,” a low voice rumbled from far too close behind Lucifer’s head, “injured, unwilling, and with an audience ain’t really my thing, boss.” 

Those words brought Lucifer’s heart up into his throat. 

He knew that voice too.

Dean. 

It was unmistakably Dean who was touching the small of his back with such familiarity, and nothing else could possibly come close to the pain caused by that simple touch.

Strong fingers curled briefly around his own, and something light but warm was looped like a bracelet across the palm of his hand just above his thumb. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be you,” Dean whispered, hardly loud enough to be heard over the pounding of Lucifer’s heart and the ragged, wet breaths he was struggling with. The little squeeze came again, and Dean asked much louder, “You sure they brought us the right guy?”

Scraping footsteps came close again, and the bag was yanked off of Lucifer’s head. For a harsh moment the only thing he could do was brace himself against the light, keeping his eyes closed tight against the new and sharp pain.

“Oh, definitely.” Gadreel hummed in something like approval, one hand coming out to cup Lucifer’s jaw and tip his face up a higher. “A little worse for wear, but this is our Lucifer.”

“You said we were cleaning up some loose ends from a deal that went bad,” Dean said after a pause.

“And we are,” Gadreel promised, lightly patting Lucifer’s cheek.

Lucifer managed to pry open his eyes, though they hardly seemed to want to focus. The blur that was his oldest brother slowly solidified, towering over him, as unfeeling and cold as stone.

“Don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, Gadreel,” Dean drawled in that light, almost joking way that he used to talk to Lucifer, and while he spoke there was a sharp pain against Lucifer’s thumb and the warm wet slide of blood being spread over his skin and whatever Dean had looped around his hand “But, your dad’s gonna be pissed if we kill one of his favorite kids.”

“You’d think so,” Gadreel shrugged, dropping the bag that had been over Lucifer’s head, and returning to a tattered old book as he distractedly said, “except, he knew exactly what I was planning when we left the house, and still, he didn’t try to stop me. He also let Lucifer blame him for my past couple attempts at killing this bastard, which I still don’t understand. But… our father is a complicated man.” 

Dean finished his weird looping pattern over Lucifer’s hand and wrists, and all at once there was the warm prickle of magic creeping up his arms, raising goosebumps, and slamming a door between Lucifer and all the cuts and bruises and pain. Somewhere in the distant corners of his body he could still sense the injuries. All of it was still very much there, lurking in the shadows like a hungry creature, but right in that moment there was a very small barrier between Lucifer and all that hurt, and his whole body sagged in relief, his forehead almost touching his knees.

Behind him, Dean shifted the remains of Lucifer’s wrecked shirt down his arms to let it all bunch up over, and hide, his hands. 

Lucifer felt more than saw the other man stand and move around him, leaving Lucifer curled against the floor like a rock. There were tiles under his knees. Small and blurry. Black and white chessboard checks. The pattern wasn't quite symmetrical. That really bugged him.

“Don’t know if you’re gonna find that mess in your book,” Dean was saying softly, clearly a conversation between himself and Gadreel.

“So you  _ can _ see it?”

“Yeah. Saw the spellwork on him the first night we met and I had to give him a couple stitches,” that light friendliness was still clear in Dean’s voice, but it sounded slightly off to Lucifer’s ears. “It’s somewhere under a whole lot of scarring and bruises though. I think it’s gonna be rough picking out the original pattern. It’s probably something we shouldn’t mess around with.”

Gadreel made a dismissive sound rather than answering. 

Lucifer wished that the ground would simply open up and swallow his brother.

Too soon though, Gadreel was moving around him, resting that book on Lucifer’s shoulders like he was an end table. 

“This one,” Gadreel said with a slight question to it. 

Dean circled him, and with one warm finger he traced over old, long faded marks that lined Lucifer’s spine. Softly, and with no emotion he agreed, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Perfect,” Gadreel sounded happy, and that never meant good things. 

The book was set down, and Lucifer could just see the edges of the pages from the corner of one eye. Yellowed pages and faded handwritten script. 

A second hand joined Dean’s, Gadreel lightly tapping three spots down the length of Lucifer’s spine. “You’ll need to cut out these ones.”

“I, uh,” Dean cleared his throat, “still don’t think that’s a great idea, boss. If I fuck it up―”

“You won’t,” Gadreel assured. “You’ve got very steady hands.”

Lucifer shifted, trying to twist away from the fingers prodding at him like he was a science experiment, making small disagreeable sounds through his nose. All it did was earn him both of Dean’s hands on either side of his shoulders, steadying him. 

“This is… it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, boss,” Dean whispered with a resigned sigh, “try and stay still so I don’t fuck it up.”

Lucifer made further disagreeable sounds, but couldn’t really do anything in his own defence other than try to straighten and sit up. It didn’t save him, Dean was far too set in his task, one warm, rough hand coming to grip the base of Lucifer’s neck, pushing him firmly back.

“Still,” Dean hissed, and the razor’s edge of a knife settled very deliberately between Lucifer’s shoulders. 

It took the knife actually biting into his skin for the reality of what was happening to finally click for Lucifer. He was literally being cut off from what little protection that he had, old spells were being carved away, and more than the pain, he felt a white hot surge of panic. 

He twisted himself away from Dean’s steady hands and heard the other man take a harsh breath as the knife point slipped recklessly sideways.

Lucifer caught a blur of movement, but his brain was slow to translate it as his brother’s foot until it connected with his temple and sent him spilling back onto the floor, his head ringing like a bell.

“Dude,” Dean raised his voice in irritation, “any more head trauma tonight and he’s gonna end up needing some serious medical.”

“He was moving too much,” Gardeel said almost innocently, like this was actually funny to him, “I was just administering a mild sedative.”

“Yeah well, warn me next time you’re gonna play doctor.” Dean tugged Lucifer back into place, his hands gentle despite the roughness of his voice. “I don’t know what’s going to happen if I go cutting the wrong symbols here.”

“I don’t either,” Gadreel said, his voice retreating as he walked away, his words growing thoughtful, “it might do nothing, it might send some mayday to his brother, god only knows what sorts of pacts those two made.”

There was distant movement in the room, nothing that Lucifer really caught as he breathed against the floor and counted the few short seconds it took for the roaring between his ears to fade. Whatever bit of magic that Dean had put in his hands was still doing its work, though the bracelet was steadily growing hotter and hotter in his clenched fists.

“Just follow fucking directions for once, Lu,” Dean said, his hand sliding from Lucifer’s shoulder to grip the back of his head, his hand so warm against Lucifer’s scalp. “Don’t move. I’ll make it quick.”

The knife made its way down his spine, the metal cold and careful as a scalpel, but it didn’t feel any sharper than a piece of paper. All Lucifer really felt was the bracelet pressed into the palm of his hand growing almost too hot to hold.

Dean let him go suddenly. All physical contact gone. 

Apparently, just like that, it was over. 

Lucifer didn’t know why but his eyes had started to sting and water, and he closed them tight rather than have to look at the awful tile pattern any longer. 

“Beautiful work as always,” Gadreel said, coming back to them.

Lucifer managed to raise his head enough to give his brother the dirtiest look he could muster. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do. 

He got his first real glimpse of the room and the other people. Vaguely familiar faces and some very unfamiliar walls with stained wall paper and high ceiling with exposed ductwork and wires, and those long ugly yellow fluorescent tubes that made for the most unflattering light.

Dean came into view, wiping a pocket knife clean on his jeans and keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. The idiot. Blood stained horribly, and he was absolutely the sort of person who wouldn’t know he needed to use hydrogen peroxide to get blood out, otherwise he’d just have to throw those pants away. Shame, they were actually nice jeans for a change. 

Dean didn’t stand right next to Gadreel, but he didn’t need to. It was clear that he was part of whatever this was, at least in the ways that really mattered.

Squaring his shoulders, Lucifer sat up straight and cocked his head to one side, looking up at his brother like a challenge. If they were going to do this then they needed to get on with it, kneeling on the floor was incredibly uncomfortable.

“I’ll let you do the honors,” Gadreel said, nodding towards Dean, and Dean’s head jerked up. Gadreel reached over and plucked the revolver from the dark shoulder holster at Dean’s side and placed it in his hand. “That was the plan for tonight, afterall.”

“Yeah, boss,” Dean said with a lopsided smile that was all raw nerves, the barrel of the gun pointed firmly at the floor, “but it wasn’t supposed to be your brother here. We were just cleaning up an old mess. Your dad... he’s a family oriented man. He’s not gonna be cool with this.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Gadreel sighed softly, almost sad. “Lucifer and his brother Castiel, they’re weak spots for Dad. So was their mother. This all has been a long time coming, and really, sort of a test run to see if the unkillable son can actually die, and if he can, we know his brother can too, and then the two biggest mistakes of my fathers life will finally be gone, and everything can go back to the way it was.” Gadreel slid up behind Dean and helped level his arm, pointing the gun squarely at Lucifer. 

Dean reluctantly met his eye, and there was zero conviction in that gaze. The man had no poker face at all, and Lucifer thought to himself that it was a good thing that Dean had chosen to be a bodyguard instead of anything else that would have required any proper detachment.

“Your loyalty is what first caught my attention, Dean,” Gadreel said, slowly letting go of Dean’s arm, looking over his shoulder to watch Lucifer, and there was clearly no joy on his face. This really was just a job to him, something he’d been working at for god knows how long. “It’s clear that this bastard is still a weak spot for you too. But there’s a time and place for all things, and old bridges have to burn sometimes so new ones can be built.”

Lucifer sniffed sharply, cleared his throat, and couldn’t say or do a damn thing to defend himself. He’d like to have been brave about it all, but he had his doubts that anyone had ever really truly been brave while staring down their own death. The most he could do was tip his chin up in a silent ‘fuck you’ and close his eyes so that he wouldn’t wince.

He didn’t hear the gun go off, but he felt a white hot pain that apparently not even the charm Dean had given him could mask. 

He drew a sharp breath, and felt the pain move, not through him like a bullet should have, but sliding from his belly to his ribs like a zipper opening up in one sure movement.

There was an odd sound, but it didn’t come from Lucifer, and he let his eyes flutter back open. 

Dean had dropped his gun and his mouth was opening and closing, though no words were coming out. 

And then Lucifer saw the blood, and the knife, and Gadreel stepping back and letting Dean collapse on the really fucking hideious tile floor. 

The pain wasn’t Lucifer’s. 

It was Dean’s.

And Dean wasn’t getting back up.

“Sorry, baby brother,” Gadreel said with a sigh, stepping around Dean and coming to stand over Lucifer. “I liked him too. But, a man who can’t follow orders isn’t any use to me. Or to the family.”

There was blood readily flowing over Lucifer’s wrists, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cuts on his back or from how hard he was twisting his hands in an effort to get them free. 

Dean was in so much pain, and Lucifer couldn’t get to him. All he could do was sit there on his knees and watch the man he loved uselessly pressing hands to his stomach as dark red pooled around him.

Even though Lucifer couldn’t talk past the duct tape, it didn’t stop him from yelling up at his brother, struggling to put at much feeling as he could behind those muffled curses.

The light’s overhead flickered unevenly, and some of the men in the room looked rightfully nervous. A few new guns were unholstered, but none seemed to point directly at Lucifer. Not yet at least.

“I know, I know,” Gadreel lamented, all his attention focusing on his younger brother, “it’s a messy business, but it has to be done. Sorry if it upsets your delicate sensibilities. We all know how you like to keep your white gloves clean. Never any blood on your hands, is there,  _ Luci _ .”

Lucifer tried to get his legs under himself, not that standing would make any of this easier, but kneeling certainly didn’t offer any advantages. Only too easily, Gadreel pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stop. If you fall you might break something, and we’re already pretty damn close to needing a closed casket funeral. You know how sentimental Dad gets when it comes to you.” Gadreel patted himself over and sighed, walking back to Dean and picking up the dropped gun before turning back. 

Dean was moving again, half on his side, clearly not doing well, his movements slow and jerky. It was obvious that no one considered him a threat of any kind, all Gadreel’s troublemaking friends either focused on Lucifer, or pointedly looking away like that would somehow make them not part of all this.

Idiots.

Fuck them. 

And Fuck Gadreel. 

Because Lucifer couldn’t make himself look away from Dean, and how the man had managed, despite the fact that he was rapidly bleeding out, to push up his sleeves and press his forearms together from wrist to elbow. For the first time since he’d seen them, the marks on Dean’s arms made sense to Lucifer. They were two halves of a circle. Complicated designs split between his arms, and the pattern they made when put together was both beautiful and terrible.

Lucifer grinned through the pain as his brother returned to fill his whole line of sight.

“Don’t give me that smug look, Lucifer,” Gadreel loomed over him one last time, clearly not understanding the manic joy coming from the doomed man at his feet. “Dad’s already losing one kid tonight, he won’t kill me for this. Not any time soon at least. Maybe he’ll even eventually thank me, but I doubt it.”

They weren't the greatest last words Lucifer thought as he stared down the barrel of a gun for the second time in as many minutes, and then the overhead lights exploded.

And in the darkness that followed came an absolutely awful sound. Wet and visceral and while his brain refused to fully register what might have happened, his stomach heaved at the slaughterhouse scent that suddenly hit his nose. 

All that Lucifer could hear then was his own ragged breaths and the faint echoes of glass settling around him.

Not Gadreel.

Not any of Gadreel’s goons.

Not a soul was moving or breathing in the room with him...

Not even Dean. 

Lucifer couldn’t hear Dean anymore.

Worse than that, the gutted pain in his stomach continued to fade, the connection between him and Dean dimming with each frantic thud of his heart. 

He wasn’t really sure how he made it over to Dean. The floor was wet and warm and very less than smooth beneath his knees. His hands were practically numb from the tightness of the ties keeping them at his back. Somehow he managed to find Dean’s pocket knife. Blindly digging the blade from one denim pocket, Lucifer cut the zip ties (and only part of one hand) and finally he was free. 

In the pitch-black and empty room, he pulled the tape off his mouth, and swearing, he pushed his shaking hands over Dean’s very still body. 

“Hey, no, no, no, you’ve got to wake up, Dean, Dean, goddamn it, Dean,” the words were spilling from Lucifer and it was nothing like his usual prayers, but he’d also never put his hands on an injury this bad before. An injury he could feel inside himself less and less with each passing second.

_ Please,  _

_ please be ok,  _

_ breath, you jerk,  _

_ don’t you dare, _

_ don’t you dare leave me like this,  _ __

_ I swear to god, Dean,  _

_ Dean,  _

_ Dean,  _

_ you have to wake up,  _

_ please _


End file.
